IT  IS  NEYER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


g.  Pattcr-0f-jfatt  g0mana» 


CHARLES     READE. 


HOUSEHOLD  EDITION, 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1872. 


author's  edition. 


^S^  ?  ^ 


University  Press  •  Wklch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


N\AiN 


THIS   ATTEMPT    AT  A    SOLID   FICTION 

IS,  WITH  THEIR  PERMISSION, 


THE   PRESIDENT,   FELLOWS,    AND   DEMIES 

OF  ST.  MARY  MAGDALEN  COLLEGE, 

OXFORD, 

BY  A    GRATEFUL   SON 

OF  THAT  ANCIENT,   LEARNED,   AND  MOST  CHARITABLE 
HOUSE. 


l-rn 


a 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/^ 


A  MATTER-OF-FACT  ROMANCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GEORGE  FIELDING  cultivated 
a  small  farm  in  Berkshire. 

Tliis  position  is  not  so  enviable  as 
it  was  :  years  apro,  the  farmers  of  Eng- 
land, had  they  been  as  intelligent  as 
other  traders,  could  have  purchased 
the  Enfjlish  soil  by  means  of  the  huge 
percentage  it  offered  them. 

But  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  a  farmer 
must  be  as  sharp  as  his  neighbors,  or, 
like  his  neighbors,  he  will  break. 
What  do  I  say  1  There  are  soils 
and  situations  where,  in  spite  of  in- 
telligence and  sobriety,  he  is  almost 
sure  to  break ;  just  as  there  are  shops 
where  the  lively,  the  severe,  the  in- 
dustrious, the  lazy,  are  fractured  alike. 

This  last  fact  I  make  mine  by  per- 
ambulating a  certain  great  street  every 
three  months,  and  observing  how 
name  succeeds  to  name  as  wave  to 
wave. 

Readers  hardened  by  "  The  Times  " 
will  not  perhaps  go  so  far  as  to  weep 
over  a  body  of  traders  for  being  re- 
duced to  the  average  condition  of  all 
other  traders ;  but  the  individual 
trader,  who  fights  for  existence  against 
unfair  odds,  is  to  be  pitied  whether 
his  shop  has  plate-glass  or  a  barn- 
door to  it ;  and  he  is  the  more  to  be 
pitied  when  he  is  sober,  intelligent, 
prouil,  sensitive,  and  unlucky. 

George  Fielding  was  all  these,  who, 
a  few  years  ago,  assisted  by  his  broth- 
er William,  tilled  "  The  Grove,"  — as 


nasty  a  little  farm  as  any  in  Berk- 
shire. 

Discontented  as  he  was,  the  expres- 
sion hereinbefore  written  would  have 
seemed  profene  to  young  Fielding, 
for  a  farmer's  farm  and  a  sailor's  ship 
have  always  something  sacred  in  the 
sufferer's  eyes,  though  one  sends  one 
to  jail,  and  the  other  the  other  to^' 
Jones. 

It  was  four  hundred  acres,  all  arable, 
and  most  of  ic  poorsour  land.  George's 
father  had  one  hundred  acres  grass 
witli  it,  but  this  had  been  separated 
six  years  ago. 

There  was  not  a  tree,  nor  even  an 
old  stump,  to  show  for  this  word 
"  Grove." 

But  in  the  country  oral  tradition 
still  flourishes. 

There  had  been  trees  in  "  The 
Grove,"  only  the  title  had  outlived 
the  timber  a  few  centuries. 

On  the  morning  of  our  tale  George 
Fielding  might  have  been  seen,  near 
his  own  homestead,  conversing  with 
the  Honorable  Frank  Winchester. 

This  gentleman  was  a  character 
that  will  be  common  some  day,  but 
was  nearly  unique  at  the  date  of  our 
storv. 

He  had  not  an  extraordinary  intcN 
lect,  but  he  had  great  natural  gav- 
ety,  and  under  that  he  had  enor- 
mous gojod  sense  ;  liis  good  sense  was 
really  brilliant ;  he  had  a  sort  of  uni- 
versal healthy  mind  that  I  can't  un- 
derstand how  people  get. 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


He  was  deeply  in  love  with  a  lady 
who  returned  his  passion,  but  she  was 
hoj)ek-ssly  out  of  liis  reach,  l)ccause 
he  liad  not  much  money  or  cxj>ecta- 
•  tioiis  ;  instead  of  sitting'' down  nuliti<^, 
or  sauntering  about  winning,  wliat 
did  me  the  Honorable  Frank  Win- 
chester 1  He  looked  over  England 
for  the  means  of  getting  this  money, 
and,  not  finding  it  there,  he  surveyed 
the  globe  and  selected  Australia, 
where,  they  told  him,  a  little  money 
turns  to  a  deal,  instead  of  dissolving 
in  the  hand  like  a  lozenge  in  the 
mouth,  as  it  does  in  London. 

80  iiere  was  an  earl's  son  (in  this 
age  of  commonplace  events)  going  to 
Australia  witii  live  thousand  pounds, 
as  sheep  farmer  and  general  specula- 
tor. 

He  was  trying  hard  to  persuade 
George  Fielding  to  accompany  him 
as  bailiff  or  agricultural  adviser  and 
manager. 

He  knew  the  young  man's  value, 
but  to  do  him  justice  his  aim  was  not 
purely  seltish  ;  he  was  aware  that 
Fielding  had  a  bud  bargain  in  "  The 
Grove,"  and  the  farmer  had  saved 
his  life  at  great  personal  risk  one  day 
that  he  was  seized  with  cramp  bath- 
ing in  the  turbid  waters  of  Cleve 
millpool,  and  he  wanted  to  serve  him 
in  return.  This  was  not  his  first  at- 
tempt of  the  kind,  and  but  for  one 
reason  perhaps  he  might  liave  suc- 
ceeded. 

"  You  know  mc  and  I  know  you," 
said  Mr.  Winchester  to  George  Field- 
,  ing  ;  "  I  must  have  sorael)ody  to  put 
me  in  the  way  :  stay  with  me  one 
year,  and  after  that  I  '11  square  ac- 
counts with  you  about  that  thunder- 
ing n)illpool." 

"()  Mr.  Winchester,"  said  George, 
hastily,  and  blushing  like  fire,  "  that 's 
an  old  story,  sir !  "  with  a  sweet  little 
half-cunning  smile  that  showed  he 
was  glad  it  was  not  forgotten. 

"  Not  quite,"  replied  the  young 
gentleman,  dryly  ;  *'  you  shall  have 
five  hundred  sheep  and  a  run  for 
them,  and  we  will  both  come  home 
rich  and  consequently  respectable." 


"  It  is  a  handsome  offer,  sir,  and  a 
kind  offer,  and  like  yourself,  sir  ;  but 
transplanting  one  of  us,"  continued 
(ieorge,  "  dear  me,  sir,  it's  like  tak- 
ing up  an  oak-tree  thirty  years  in  the 
ground,  —  besides  —  besides  —  did 
vou  ever  notice  my  cousin  Susanna, 
sir?" 

"  Notice  her  !  why,  do  you  think  I 
am  a  heathen,  and  never  go  to  the 
parish  church  1  JMiss  Merton  is  a 
lovely  girl ;  she  sits  in  the  pew  by  the 
pillar." 

"  Is  n't  she,  sir  ?  "  said  George. 

Mr.  Winchester  endeavored  to  turn 
this  adverse  topic  in  his  favor;  he 
made  a  remark  that  produced  no  ef- 
fect at  the  time.  He  said  :  "  People 
don't  go  to  Australia  to  die,  —  they 
go  to  Australia  to  make  inoney,  and 
come  home  and  marry  ;  and  it  is 
what  you  must  do,  —  this  '  Grove  '  is 
a  millstone  round  your  neck.  Will 
you  have  a  cigar,  farmer  ?  " 

George  consented,  premising,  how- 
ever, that  hithei-to  he  had  never  got 
beyond  a  yard  of  clay,  and  after  draw- 
ing a  puff  or  two  he  took  the  cigar 
from  his  mouth,  and,  looking  at  it, 
said,  "  I  say,  sir  !  seems  to  me  the 
fire  is  uncommon  near  the  chimbly." 
Mr.  Winchester  laughed ;  he  then 
asked  George  to  show  him  the  black- 
smith's shop.  "  I  must  learn  how  to 
shoe  a  horse,"  said  the  honorable 
Frank. 

"  Well,  I  never!  "  thought  George, 
"  the  first  nob  in  the  country  going 
to  shoe  a  horse  "  ;  but  with  his  rustic 
delicacy  he  said  nothing,  and  led  Mr. 
Winchester  to  the  blacksmith's  shop. 

Whilst  this  young  gentleman  is 
hammering  nails  into  a  horse's  hoof, 
and  Australia  into  an  English  farmer's 
mind,  we  must  introduce  other  per- 
sonages. 

Susanna  Merton  was  beautiful  and 
good  :  George  Fieldir)g  «nd  she  were 
acknowledged  lovers,  but  marriage 
was  not  spoken  of  as  a  near  event, 
and  latterly  oM  Merton  had  seemed 
cool  whenever  his  daughter  mentioned 
the  young  man's  name. 

Susanna  appeared  to  like  George, 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


thoug^li  not  so  warmly  as  he  loved 
her ;  but  at  all  events  she  accepted  no 
other  proifers  of  love  :  for  all  that,  she 
had,  besides  a  host  of  admirers,  other 
lovers  besides  George  ;  and,  what  is 
a  groat  deal  more  singular  (for  a 
woman's  eye  is  quick  as  lightning  in 
finding  out  who  loves  her),  there  was 
more  than  one  of  whose  passion  she 
was  not  conscious. 

William  Fielding,  George's  brother, 
was  in  love  with  his  brother's  sweet- 
heart; but,  though  he  trembled  with 
pleasure  when  she  was  near  him,  he 
never  looked  at  her  except  by  stealth  ; 
he  knew  he  had  no  business  to  love 
her. 

On  the  morning  of  our  tale  Susan's 
father,  old  Merton,  had  walked  over 
from  his  farm  to  "  The  Grove,"  and 
was  inspecting  a  field  behind  George's 
house,  when  he  was  accosted  by  his 
friend  Mr.  Meadows,  who  had  seen 
him,  and  giving  his  horse  to  a  boy  to 
hold  had  crossed  the  stubbles  to  speak 
to  him. 

Mr.  Meadows  was  not  a  common 
man,  and  merits  some  preliminary 
notice. 

He  was  what  is  called  in  the  country 
"  a  lucky  man  "  ;  everything  he  had 
done  in  life  had  prospered. 

The  neighbors  admired,  respected, 
and  some  of  them  even  hated  this 
respectable  man,  who  had  been  a  cart- 
er in  the  midst  of  them,  and  now  at 
forty  years  of  age  was  a  rich  corn- 
factor  and  land-surveyor. 

"  All  this  money  cannot  have  been 
honestly  got,"  said  the  envious  ones 
among  themselves;  yet  they  could 
not  put  their  finger  on  any  dishonest 
action  he  had  done  :  to  the  more  can- 
did the  known  qualities  of  the  man 
accounted  for  his  life  of  success. 

This  John  Meadows  had  a  cool 
head,  an  iron  will,  a  body  and  mind 
alike  indefatigable,  and  an  eye  never 
diverted  from  the  great  objects  of 
sober,  industrious  men,  —  wealth  and 
respectability :  he  had  also  the  soul 
of  business,  —  method  ! 

At  one  hour  he  was  sure  to  be  at 
chmch;    at  another,  at  market;  in 


his  office  at  a  third  ;  and  at  home 
when  respectable  men  should  be  at 
home. 

By  this  means  Mr.  Meadows  was 
always  to  be  found  by  any  man  who 
wanted  to  do  business  ;  and,  wlien  you 
had  found  him,  you  found  a  man 
superficially  coy  perhaps,  but  at  bot- 
tom always  ready  to  do  business,  and 
equally  sure  to  get  the  sunny  side  of 
it,  and  give  you  the  windy. 

Meadows  was  generally  respected ; 
by  none  more  than  by  old  Merton ; 
and  during  the  last  few  months  the 
intimacy  of  these  two  men  had  ripened 
into  friendship ;  the  corn-factor  often 
hooked  his  bridle  to  the  old  farmer's 
gate,  and  took  a  particular  interest  in 
all  his  affairs. 

Such  was  John  Meadows. 

In  person  he  was  a  tall,  stout  man, 
with  iron-gray  hair,  a. healthy,  weath- 
er-colored complexion,  and  a  massive 
brow  that  spoke  to  the  depth  and  force 
of  the  man's  character. 

"  What,  taking  a  look  at  the  farm, 
Mr.  Merton  ?  it  wants  some  of  your 
grass  put  to  it,  does  n't  it  I  " 

"  I  never  thought  much  of  the  farm/* 
was  the  reply,  "  it  lies  cold  ;  the  sixty- 
acre  field  is  well  enough,  but  the  land 
on  the  hill  is  as  poor  as  death." 

Now  this  idea,  which  Merton  gave 
out  as  his,  had  dropped  into  him  from 
Meadows  three  weeks  before. 

"  Farmer,"  said  Meadows,  in  an 
undertone,  "  they  are  thrashing  out 
new  wheat  for  the  rent." 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?  why,  I  did  n't 
hear  the  flail  going." 

"  They  have  just  knocked  off"  for 
dinner ;  you  need  not  say  I  told  you, 
but  Will  Fielding  was  at  the  bank 
this  morning,  trying  to  get  money  on 
their  bill,  and  the  bank  said.  No ! 
They  had  my  good  word  too.  The 
people  of  the  bank  sent  over  to  me." 

They  had  his  good  word !  but  not 
his  good  tone !  he  had  said  "  Well, 
their  father  was  a  safe  man  "  ;  but  the 
accent  with  which  he  eulogized  the 
parent  had  somehow  locked  the  bank 
cash-box  to  the  children. 

"  I  never  liked  it,  especially  of  late," 


8 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


mused  Merton.  "  But  you  see  the 
youn^  folk  liein^  cousins  —  " 

"  That  is  it,  cousins,"  put  in  Mead- 
ows ;  "  it  is  not  as  if  she  loved  him 
with  all  her  heart  and  soul :  she  is  an 
obedient  daufrhter,  is  n't  she  1  " 

"  Never  gainsaid  me  in  her  life ; 
she  has  a  hi;j:h  spirit,  l)Ut  never  with 
me  ;  my  word  is  law.  You  see  she  is 
a  very  religious  girl,  is  Susan." 

"  Well,  then,  a  word  from  you 
would  save  her,  —  but  there,  —  all 
that  is  your  affair,  not  mine,"  added 
he. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  was  the  reply. 
"  You  are  a  true  friend :  I  '11  step 
round  to  the  barn  and  see  what  is 
doing  "  ;  and  away  went  Susan's 
father,  uneasy  in  his  mind. 

Meadows  went  to  the  "  Black 
Horse,"  the  village  public-house,  to 
sec  what  farmers  wanted  to  borrow  a 
little  money  under  the  rose,  and  would 
pawn  their  wheat  ricks,  and  pay 
twenty  per  cent  for  that  overrated 
«iofchandise. 

At  the  door  of  the  public-house  he 
was  met  by  the  village  constable,  and 
a  stranger  of  gentlemanly  address  and 
clerical  appearance  ;  the  constable 
wore  a  mysterious  look,  and  invited 
Meadows  into  the  parlor  of  the  public- 
house. 

"  I  have  news  for  you,  sir,"  said 
he,  "  leastways  I  think  so  ;  your  jack- 
et was  ^)icked  last  Martinmas  Aiir  of 
three  Farnborough  bank-notes  with 
your  name  on  the  back." 

"  It  was  !  " 

"  Is  this  one  of  them  ?  "  said  the 
man,  producing  a  note. 

Meadows  examined  it  with  interest, 
compared  the  number  with  a  memo- 
randum in  his  pocket-book,  and  pro- 
nounced that  it  was. 

"  Who  passed  it  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  A  chap  that  has  got  the  rest,  —  a 
stranger,  —  Robinson,  —  that  lodges 
at  *  The  Grove '  with  Geori^e  Field- 
ing; that  is,  if  his  name  is  IJobinson, 
but  we  think  he  is  a  Londoner  come 
down  to  take  an  airing.  You  under- 
stand, sir." 

Meadows's  eyes  flashed  actual  fire  : 


for  so  rich  a  man  he  seemed  won- 
derfully excited  by  this  circum- 
stance. 

To  an  inquiry  who  was  his  compan- 
ion, the  constable  answered  solto 
voce  :  "  Gentleman  from  Bow  Street, 
come  to  see  if  he  knows  him."  The 
constable  went  on  to  inform  Meadows 
that  Robinson  was  out  fishing  some- 
where, otherwise  they  would  already 
have  taken  him  ;  "  But  we  Avill  hang 
aljout  the  farm,  and  take  him  when  he 
comes  home." 

"  You  had  better  be  at  hand,  sir,  to 
identify  the  notes,"  said  the  gentle- 
man from  Bow  Street  whose  appear- 
ance was  clerical. 

Meadows  had  important  business 
five  miles  off" :  he  postponed  it.  He 
wrote  a  line  in  pencil,  put  a  boy  upon 
his  black  mare,  and  hurried  him  off 
to  the  rendezvous,  while  he  stayed 
and  entered  with  strange  alacrity  into 
this  aff"air.  "  Stay,"  cried  he,  "  if  he 
is  an  old  hand  he  will  twig  the 
officer." 

"  O,  I  'm  dark,  sir,"  was  the  an- 
swer;  "  he  won't  know  me  till  I  put 
the  darbies  on  him." 

The  two  men  then  strolled  as  far 
as  the  village  stocks,  keeping  an  eye 
ever  on  the  farm-house. 

Thus  a  network  of  adverse  events 
was  closing  round  George  Fielding 
this  day. 

He  was  all  unconscious  of  them  ; 
he  was  in  good  spirits.  Robinson  had 
showed  him  how  to  relieve  the  tempo- 
rary embarrassment  that  had  lately  de- 
pressed him. 

"  Draw  a  bill  on  your  brother,"  said 
Robinson,  "  and  let  him  accept  it. 
The  Farnborough  Bank  will  give  you 
notes  for  it  :  these  country  banks  like 
any  paper  better  than  their  own.  I 
dare  say  they  are  right." 

George  had  done  this,  and  expected 
William  every  minute  with  this  and 
other  moneys  ;  and  then  Susanna 
Merton  was  to  dine  at  "  The  Grove  " 
to-day,  and  this,  though  not  uncom- 
mon, ^\as  always  a  great  event  with 
poor  Georufc. 

Dilly  would  not  come  to  be  killed 


IT    13  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD.' 


just  when  he  was  wanted :  in  other 
words,  Robinson,  wlio  had  no  idea 
how  he  was  keepinf?  people  waitinc:, 
fi^^hed  tranquilly  till  near  dinner- 
time, neither  raking  nor  being  taken. 

This  detained  Meadows  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  farm,  and  was 
the  cause  of  his  rencontre  with  a  very- 
singular  personage,  whose  visit  he 
knew  at  sight  must  be  to  him. 

As  he  hovered  about  among  George 
Fielding's  ricks,  the  figure  of  an  old 
man  slightly  bowed  but  full  of  vigor 
stood  before  him.  He  had  a  long 
gray  beard  with  a  slight  division  in 
the  centre,  hair  abundant  but  almost 
white,  and  a  dark  swarthy  complex- 
ion that  did  not  belong  to  England ; 
his  thick  eyebrows  also  were  darker 
than  his  hair,  and  under  them  was  an 
eye  like  a  royal  jewel ;  his  voice  had 
the  Oriental  richness  and  modula- 
tion. This  old  man  was  Isaac  Levi ; 
an  Oriental  Jew  who  had  passed  half 
his  life  under  the  sun's  eye,  and  now, 
though  the  town  of  Farnborough  had 
long  been  too  accustomed  to  him  to 
wonder  at  him,  he  dazzled  any 
thoughtful  stranger;  so  exotic  and 
apart  was  he,  —  so  romantic  a  grain 
in  a  heap  of  vulgarity,  —  he  was  as 
though  a  striped  jasper  had  crept  in 
among  the  paving-stones  of  their  mar- 
ket-place, or  a  cactus  grandiflora 
shone  amongst  the  nettles  of  a  Berk- 
shire meadow. 

Isaac  Levi,  unlike  most  Jews,  was 
familiar  with  the  Hebrew  tongue,  and 
this  and  the  Eastern  habits  of  his 
youth  colored  his  language  and  his 
thoughts,  especially  in  his  moments 
of  emotion,  and,  above  all,  when  he 
forgot  the  money-lender  for  a  moment, 
and  felt  and  thought  as  one  of  a  great 
nation,  depressed,  but  waiting  for  a 
great  deliverance.  He  was  a  man  of 
authority  and  learning  in  his  tribe. 

At  sight  of  Isaac  Levi,  Meadows's 
brow  lowered,  and  he  called  out  rather 
rudely,  without  alloAving  the  old  gen- 
tleman to  speak,  "  If  you  are  come  to 
talk  to  me  about  that  house  you  are 
in,  you  may  keep  your  breath  to  cool 
your  porridge." 

1* 


Meadows  had  bought  the  house 
Isa-.u-  rented,  and  had  instantly  given 
him  warning  to  leave. 

Isaac,  who  had  become  strangely 
attached  to  the  only  place  in  whicK 
he  had  ever  lived  many  years,  had  not 
doubted  for  a  moment  that  Meadows 
merely  meant  to  raise  the  rent  to  its 
full  value,  so  he  had  come  to  treat; 
with  his  new  landlord.  "  Mr.  Mead- 
ows," said  he,  persuasively,  "  I  have 
lived  there  twenty  years,  —  I  pay  a 
fair  rent,  —  but,  if  you  think  any  one 
would  give  you  more,  you  shall  lose 
nothing  by  me,  —  I  will  pay  a  little 
more  ;  and  you  know  your  rent  is  se- 
cure ?  " 

"  I  do,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Thank  you,  sir  !  well,  then  —  " 

"  Well,  then,  next  Lady-day  you 
turn  out  bag  and  baggage." 

"  Nay,"sii-,"  said  Isaac  Levi,  "hear 
me,  for  you  are  younger  than  I.  Mr. 
Meadows,  when  this  hair  Avas  brown 
I  travelled  in  the  East ;  I  sojourned 
in  Madras  and  Benares,  in  Bagdad, 
Ispahan,  Mecca,  and  Bassora,  and 
found  no  rest.  When  my  hair  began 
to  turn  gray,  I  traded  in'  Petersburg, 
and  Rome,  and  Paris,  Vienna  and 
Lisbon,  and  other  Western  cities,  and 
found  no  rest.  I  came  to  this  little 
town,  where,  least  of  all,  I  thought  to 
pitch  my  tent  lor  life,  but  here  the 
God  of  my  fathers  gave  me  my  Avife, 
and  here  he  took  her  to  himself 
again  —  " 

"  What  the  deuce  is  all  this  to  me, 
man  ?  " 

"  Much,  sir,  if  you  are  what  men 
say  ;  for  men  speak  well  of  you  ;  be 
patient,  and  hear  me.  Two  children 
were  born  to  me  and  died  from  me  in 
the  house  you  have  bought ;  and  there 
my  Leah  died  also  ;  and  there  at  times 
in  the  silent  hours  I  seem  to  hear  their 
voices  and  their  feet.  In  another 
house  I  shall  never  hear  them, — I 
shall  be  quite  alone.  Have  pity  on 
me,  sir,  an  aged  and  a  lonely  man  ; 
tear  me  not  from  the  shadows  of  my 
dead.     Let  me  prevail  with  you  ?  " 

"No  !  "  was  the  stern  answer. 

**  No  ?  "  cried  Levi,  a  sudden  li^ht 


10 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


dnrtin^X  into  his  eye  ;  "  then  you  must 
be  an  oiemy  of  Isaac  Levi  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  was  the  grim  reply  to  this 
rapid  inference. 

"  All !  "  cried  the  old  Jew,  with  a 
sudden  defiance,  which  he  install tly 
suppressed.  "And  what  have  I  done 
to  gain  your  enmity,  sir?"  said  he, 
in  a  tone  crushed  by  main  force  into 
mere  regret. 

"  You  lend  money." 

"  A  little,  sir,  now  and  then,  —  a 
very  little."  . 

"  That  is  to  say,  when  the  security 
is  bad,  you  have  no  money  in  hand  ; 
but,  when  the  security  is  good,  nobody 
has  ever  found  the  bottom  of  Isaac 
Levi's  purse." 

"  Our  people,"  said  Isaac,  apologet- 
ically, "  can  trust  one  another,  —  they 
are  not  like  yours.  We  are  brothers, 
and  that  is  why  money  is  always  forth- 
coming when  the  deposit  is  sound." 

"  Well,"  said  Meadows,  "  what 
rou  are,  I  am ;  what  I  do  on  the  sly 
you  do  on  the  sly,  old  thirty  per  cent." 

"  The  world  is  wide  enough  for  us 
both,  good  sir  —  " 

"  It  is  !  "  was  the  prompt  reply. 
"  And  it  lies  before  you,  Isaac.  Go 
where  you  like,  for  the  little  town  of 
Farnborough  is  not  wide  enough  for 
me  and  any  man  that  works  my  busi- 
ness for  his  own  j)Ockct  — " 

"  But  this  is  not  enmity,  sir." 

Meadows  gave  a  coarsish  laugh. 
"  Y'ou  are  hard  to  jilease,"  cried  he. 
"  I  think  you  will  find  it  is  enmity." 

"  Nay  !  sir ;  this    is    but  matter  of 

frofit  and  loss.  Well,  let  me  stay,  and 
promise  you  shall  gain  and  not  lose. 
Our  people  are  industrious  and  skilful 
in  all  bargains,  but  we  keep  faith  and 
covenant.  So  be  it.  Let  us  be  friends. 
I  covenant  with  you,  and  I  swear  by 
the  tables  of  the  law,  you  shall  not 
lose  one  shilling  per  annum  by  me." 

"  I  '11  trust  you  as  far  a>;  I  can  fling 
a  bull  by  the  tail.  You  gave  me  your 
history,  —  take  mine.  I  have  always 
put  mV  foot  on  whatever  man  or  thing 
has  stood  in  my  way.  I  was  poor,  I 
am  rich,  and  that  is  my  poli<'y." 

"  It  is  frail   policy,"    said    Isaac, 


firmly.     "  Some  man  will  be  snre  to 
put  his  foot  on  you,  soon  or  late." 

"  What,    do   you   threaten   me  1  " 
roared  Mca(h>ws. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Isaac,  gently,  but 
steadily.  "I  but  tell  you  what  these 
old  eyes  have  seen  in  every  nation, 
and  read  in  books  that  never  lie.  Go-  f 
Hath  defied  armies,  yet  he  fell  like  a  i 
])igeon  by  a  shepherd  l>oy's  sling. 
Samson  tore  a  lion  in  pieces  with  his 
hands,  but  a  woman  laid  liitn  low. 
No  man  can  defy  us  all,  sir !  The 
strong  man  is  sure  to  find  one  as 
strong  and  more  skilful ;  the  cunning 
man  one  as  adroit  and  stronger  than 
himself.  Be  advised  then,  do  not 
trample  upon  one  of  my  people.  Na- 
tions and  men  that  oppress  us  do  not  ^ 
thrive.  Let  me  have  to  bless  you. 
An  old  man's  blessing  is  gold.  See 
these  gray  hairs :  my  sorrows  have 
been  as  many  as  they.  His  share 
of  the  curse  that  is  upon  his  tribe 
has  fallen  upon  Isaac  Levi."  Then, 
stretching  out  his  hands  with  a  slight 
but  touching  gesture,  he  said  :  "  I  have 
been  driven  to  and  fro  like  a  leaf  these 
many  years,  and  now  I  long  for  rest. 
Let  me  rest  in  my  little  tent,  till  I 
rest  forever.  O  let  me  die  where 
those  I  loved  have  died,  and  there 
let  me  be  buried." 

Age,  sorrow,  and  eloquence  pleaded 
in  vain,  for  they  were  wasted  on  the 
rocks  of  rocks,  a  strong  will  and  a  . 
vulgar  soul.  But  indeed  the  wliolej 
thing  Avas  like  epic  poetry  wrestling 
with  the  "Limerick  Chronicle"  or 
"  Tuam  Gazette." 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  give  the 
respectable  Western  brute's  answer. 

"What!  you  quote  Scripture,  eh? 
I  thought  you  did  not  believe  in  that. 
Hear  t'other  side.  Abraham  and 
Lot  could  n't  live  in  the  same  place, 
because  they  both  kejit  shcf  p,  and  wc 
can't,  because  we  fieeee  'em.  So 
Abraham  gave  Lot  warning  as  I  give 
it  you.  And  as  for  dying  on  my  • 
premises,  if  you  like  to  hang  yourself 
before  next  Lady-day  I  give  you 
leave,  but  after  Lady-day  no  more 
Jewish  dogs   shall  die  in   my  house 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


11 


nor  be  buried  for  manure  in  my  gar- 
den." 

Black  lightning  poured  from  the  old 
Jew's  eyes,  and  his  pent-up  wratli 
burst  out  like  lava  from  an  angry 
mountain. 

"  Irreverent  cur !  do  you  rail  on 
the  afflicted  of  Heaven  ?  The  founder 
of  your  creed  would  abhor  you,  for 
he,  they  say,  was  pitiful.  I  spit  upon 
ye,  and  I  curse  ye.  Be  accursed ! !  " 
And,  flinging  up  his  hands  like  St. 
Paul  at  Lystra,  he  rose  to  double  his 
height,  and  towered  at  his  insulter 
with  a  sudden  Eastern  fury  that  for  a 
moment  shook  even  the  iron  Meadows. 
"  Be  accursed  ! !  "  he  yelled  again. 
"  Whatever  is  the  secret  wish  of  your 
black  heart.  Heaven  look  on  my  gray 
hairs  that  you  have  insulted,  and 
wither  that  wish.  Ah !  ha ! ''  he 
screamed,  "you  wince."  All  men 
have  secret  wishes,  —  Heaven  fight 
against  yours.  May  all  the  good  luck 
you  have  be  wormwood  for  want  of 
that  —  that  —  that  —  that.  iVIay  you 
be  near  it,  close  to  it,  upon  it,  pant 
for  it,  and  lose  it;  may  it  sport,  and 
smik',  and  laugh,  and  play  with  you, 
till  Gehenna  burns  your  soul  upon 
earth." 

The  old  man's  fiery  forked  tongue 
darted  so  keen  and  true  to  some  sore 
in  his  adversary's  heart,  that  he  in 
turn  lost  his  habitual  self-command. 

White  and  black  with  passion  he 
wheeled  round  on  Isaac  with  a  fierce 
snarl,  and  lifting  his  stick  discharged 
a  furious  blow  at  his  head. 

Fortunately  for  Isaac  wood  encoun- 
tered leather  instead  of  gray  hairs. 

Attracted  by  tlie  raised  voices,  and 
unseen  in  their  frenzy  by  either  of  these 
antagonists,  young  George  Fielding 
had  drawn  near  them.  He  had,  luck- 
ily, a  stout  pig-whip  in  his  hand,  and 
by  an  adroit  turn  of  his  muscular 
wrist  he  parried  a  blow  that  would 
have  stopped  the  old  Jew's  eloquence 
perhaps  forever.  As  it  was,  the  corn- 
factor's  stick  cut  like  a  razor  through 
the  air,  and  made  a  most  musical 
whir  within  a  foot  of  the  Jew's  ear: 
the  basilisk  look  of  venom  and  ven- 


geance he  instantly  shot  back  amount- 
ed to  a  stab. 

"  Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  George. 
And  he  stood  cool  and  erect  with  a 
calm,  manly  air  of  defiance  between 
the  two  belligerents.  While  the  stick 
and  the  whip  still  remained  in  contact. 
Meadows  glared  at  Isaac's  champion 
with  surprise  and  wrath,  and  a  sort  of 
half-fear,  half-wonder,  that  this,  of  all 
men  in  the  world,  should  be  the  one 
to  cross  weapons  with  and  thwart 
him.  "  You  arc  joking,  Master  Mead- 
ows," said  George,  coolly.  "  Why, 
the  man  is  twice  your  age,  and  noth- 
ing in  his  hand  but  his  fist.  Who 
are  ye,  oM  man,  and  what  d'ye  want. 
It 's  you  for  cursing,  any  way." 

"He  insults  me,"  cried  Meadows, 
"  because  I  won't  have  him  for  a  ten- 
ant against  my  will.  Who  is  he? 
A  villanous  old  Jew," 

"  Yes,  young  man,"  said  the  other, 
sadly,  "  I  am  Isaac  Levi,  a  Jew.  And 
what  is  your  religion?"  (he  turned 
upon  Meadows.}  "It  never  came 
out  of  Judcea  in  any  name  or  shape. 
D'ye  call  yourself  a  heathen?  Ye 
lie,  ye  cur  ;  the  heathen  were  not  with- 
out starlight  from  heaven  ;  they  re- 
spected sorrow  and  gray  hairs." 

"  You  shall  smart  for  this  :  I  '11 
show  you  what  my  religion  is,"  said 
Meadows,  inadvertent  with  passion, 
and  the  corn-foctor's  fingers  grasped 
his  stick  convulsively. 

"  Don't  you  be  so  aggravating,  old 
man,"  said  the  good-natured  George  ; 
"  and  you,  Mr.  Meadows,  should 
know  how  to  make  light  of  an  old 
man's  tongue ;  why,  it 's  like  a  wo- 
man's, it 's  all  he  has  got  to  hit  with  ; 
leastways  you  must  n't  lift  hand  to 
him  on  my  premises,  or  you  will  have 
to  settle  with  me  first ;  and  I  don't 
think  that  would  suit  your  book  or  any 
man's  for  a  mile  or  two  round  about 
Farnborough,"  said  George,  with  his 
little  Berkshire  drawl. 

"  He  !  "  shrieked  Isaac,  —  "  he  dare 
not !  see  !  see  !  "  and  he  pointed  near- 
ly into  the  man's  eye;  "he  doesn't 
look  you  in  the  face.  Any  soul  that 
has  read  men  from  East  to  West  can 


12 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


see  lion  in  your  eye,  young  man,  and 
cowardly  wolf  in  his." 

"  Lady-day  !  Lady-day  !  "  snorted 
Meadows,  who  was  now  shaking  witli 
suppressed  rage. 

•'Ah  !  "  cried  Isaac,  and  he  turned 
wliite  and  quivered  in  liis  turn. 

"  Lady-day  !  "  said  George,  uneasi- 
ly, "  (wdbund  Lady-day,  and  every 
day  of  the  sort,  —  there,  don't  you  be 
so  spiteful,  old  man,  —  why,  if  he  is  n't 
all  of  a  tremble,  —  ])oor  old  man." 
He  went  to  his  own  door,  and  called, 

—  "  Sarah  !  " 

A  stout  servant-girl  answered  the 
summons. 

'*  Take  the  old  man  in,  and  give 
him  whatever  is  going,  and  his  mug 
and  pipe."  Then  he  whispered  her, 
"  And  don't  go  lumping  the  chine 
down  under  his  nose  now." 

"  I  tliankyou,  \oung  man,"  faltered 
Isaac,  "  I  must  not  eat  with  you,  but 
I  will  go  in  and  rest  my  limbs  which 
fail  me;  and  compose  myself;  for 
passion  is  unseemly  at  my  years." 

Arrived  at  the  door,  he  suddenly 
paused,  and,  looking  upward,  said  :  — 

"  Peace  be  under  this  roof,  and 
comfort  and  love  follow  me  into  this 
dwelling." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,"  said  young 
Fieldinir,  a  little  surprised  and  touched 
by  this  ;  "  how  old  are  you,  daddy, 
if  vou  please  ?  "  added  he,  respect- 
fully. 

"  My  son,  I  am  threescore  years 
and  ten,  —  a  man  of  years  and  grief, 

—  grief  for  myself,  grief  still  more  for 
my  nation  and  city.  Men  that  are 
men  pity  us  ;  men  that  arc  dogs  have 
insultid  us  in  all  ages." 

"  AVell,"saidtlie  good-natured  young 
man,  soothingly,  "  don't  you  vex 
yourself  any  more  about  it.  Now 
you  go  in,  and  forget  all  your. trouble 
awhile,  please  God,  by  my  fireside, 
my  poor  old  man." 

Isaac  turned,  the  water  came  to  his 
eyes  at  this  after  beinj;  insidte<l  so  ;  a 
little  struggle  took  place  in  him,  but 
nature  conquered  prejudice,  and  cer- 
tain rubbish  he  called  religion.  He 
held  out  his  hand  like  the  king  of  all 


Asia  ;  George  grasped  it  like  an  Eng- 
lishman. 

"  Isaac  Levi  is  your  friend  " ;  and 
the  expression  of  the  man's  whole  face 
and  body  showed  these  words  carried 
with  them  a  meaning  unknown  ia 
good  society. 

He  entered  the  house,  and  young 
Fielding  stood  watching  him  with 
a  natural  curiosity. 

Now  Isaac  Levi  knew  nothing  about 
the  corn-factor's  plans.  When  at  one 
and  the  same  moment  he  grasped 
George's  hand  and  darted  a  long,  lin- 
gering glance  of  demoniacal  hatred  on 
Meadows,  he  coupled  two  sentiments 
l)y  pure  chance :  and  Meadows  knew 
this ;  but  still  it  struck  Meadows  as 
sinijfular  and  on)inous. 

When  with  the  best  of  motives  one 
is  on  a  wolfs  errand,  it  is  not  nice  to 
hear  an  hyena  say  to  the  shepherd's 
dog,  "  I  am  your  friend,"  and  see  him 
contemporaneously  shoot  the  eye  of  a 
rattlesnake  at  one's  self. 

The  misgiving,  however,  was  but 
momentary ;  Meadows  respected  his 
own  motives,  and  felt  his  own  power; 
an  old  Jew's  wild  fury  could  not 
shake  his  confidence. 

He  muftcred,  "  One  more  down  to 
your  account,  George  Fielding,"  and 
left  the  young  man  watching  Isaac's 
retreating  form. 

George,  Avho  did  n't  know  he  was 
gone,  said  :  — 

"  Old  man's  words  seem  to  knock 
against  my  bosom,  Mr.  Meadows,  — 
gone  —  eh?  That  man,"  thought 
George  Fielding,  "  has  everybody's 
good  word,  parson's  and  all,  —  who  'd 
think  he  'd  lift  his  hand,  leastways 
his  stick  it  was  and  that  's  worse, 
against  a  man  of  threescore  and  up- 
wards, —  ugh  !  "  thought  George 
Fielding,  yeoman  of  the  midland 
counties,  —  and  unaffected  wonder 
mintrled  with  his  disgust. 

His  rovery  was  broken  by  Wil- 
liam Fielding,  just  ridden  in  from 
Farn  borough. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  said  the 
elder  brother,  impatiently. 

"  Could  n't     get     away     sooner. 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


13 


Greorge  ;  here 's  the  money  for  the 
sheep,  £  13  10s.  ;  no  offer  for  the  cow, 
Jem  is  driving  her  home." 

"  Well,  but  the  money,  —  the  £80, 
Will  ?  " 

William  looked  sulkily  down. 

"  I  have  n't  got  it,  George  !  — 
there 's  your  draft  again,  the  bank 
would  n't  take  it." 

A  keen  pang  shot  across  George's 
face,  as  much  for  the  affront  as  the 
disappointment. 

"  They  would  n't  take  it  ?  "  gasped 
he.  "  Ay,  Will,  our  credit  is  down, 
the  whole  town  knows  our  rent  is 
overdue.  I  suppose  you  know  mon- 
ey iniist  be  got  some  way." 

"  Any  way  is  better  than  threshing 
out  new  wheat  at  such  a  price,"  said 
William,  sullenly.  "Ask  a  loan  of 
a  neighbor." 

"  0  Will,"  appealed  George,  "  to 
ask  a  loan  of  a  neighbor,  and  be  de- 
nied, —  it  is  bitterer  than  death.  You 
can  do  it." 

"  I !  —  am  I  master  here  ?  "  re- 
torted the  younger.  "  The  farm  is 
not  farmed  my  way,  nor  ever  was. 
No  !  —  give  me  the  plough  -  handle 
and  I  '11  cut  the  furrow,  George." 

"  No  doubt !  no  doubt !  "  said  the 
other,  very  sharply,  "  you  'd  like  to 
draw  the  land  dry  with  potato  crops, 
and  have  fourscore  hogs  snoring  in 
the  farm-yard  :  that 's  your  idea  of  a 
farn^  O,  I  know  you  want  to  be 
elder" brother.  Well,  I  tell  'ee  what 
do ;  you  kill  me  first,  Bill  Fielding, 
and  then  you  will  be  elder  brother, 
and  not  afore." 

Here  was  a  pretty  little  burst  of 
temper  !  We  have  all  our  sore 
part. 

"  So  be  it,  George  !  "  replied  Wil- 
liam ;  "you  got  us  into  the  mud, 
elder  brother,  you  get  us  out  of  the 
mire  !  " 

George  subdued  his  tone  directly. 

"  Who  shall  I  ask  1  "  said  he,  as 
one  addressing  a  bosom  counsellor. 

"  Uncle  Merton,  or  —  or —  Mr. 
Meadows,  the  corn-factor ;  he  lends 
money  at  times  to  friends.  It  would 
not  be  much  to  either  of  them." 


"  Show  my  empty  pockets  to  Su- 
sanna's father  !  O  Will !  how  can 
you  be  so  cruel  1  " 

"  Meadows,  then." 

"  No  use  for  me,  I  've  just  offended 
him  a  bit ;  besides,  he  's  a  man  that 
never  knew  trouble  or  ill  luck  in  his 
life;  they  are  like  flints,  all  that 
sort." 

"  Well,  look  here,  I  'm  pretty  well 
with  Meadows.  I  '11  ask  him  if  you 
will  try  uncle  ;  the  first  that  meets  his 
man  to  begin." 

"That  sounds  fair,"  said  George, 
"  but  I  can't  —  well,  —  yes,"  said  he, 
suddenly  changing  his  mind.  "  I 
agree,"  said  he,  with  simple  cunning, 
and  lowered  his  eyes  ;  but,  sudden- 
ly raising  them,  he  said,  cheerfully, 
"Why,  you're  in  luck.  Bill,  here's 
your  man  " ;  and  he  shot  like  an  ar- 
row into  his  own  kitchen. 

"  Confound  it,"  said  the  other,  fairly 
caught. 

Meadows,  it  is  to  be  observed,  was 
wandering  about  the  premises  until 
such  time  as  Kobinson  should  return ; 
and  whilst  the  brothers  were  arguing 
he  had  been  in  the  barn,  and  finding 
old  Merton  there  had  worked  still 
higher  that  prudent  man's  determina- 
tion to  break  off  matters  between  his 
daughter  and  the  farmer  of  "  The 
Grove." 

After  the  usual  salutations,  William 
Fielding,  sore  against  the  grain,  be- 
gan :  — 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  here, 
sir !     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Wil- 
lum." 

"  Well,  sir,  George  and  I  are  a 
little  short  just  at  present ;  it  is  only 
for  a  time,  and  George  says  he  sliould 
take  it  very  kind  if  you  would  lend 
us  a  hundred  pound,  just  to  help  us 
over  the  stile." 

"  Why,  Mr.Willum,"  replied  Mead- 
ows, "  I  should  be  delighted,  and,  if 
you  had  only  asked  me  yesterday,  I 
could  have  done  it  as  easy  as  stand 
here  ;  but  my  business  drinks  a 
deal  of  money,  Mr.  Willum,  and  I 
laid  out  all  my  loose  cash  yesterday  ; 


14 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


but,  of  course,  it  is  of  no  consequence, 

—  another  time,  —  good  morniu'',  Mr. 
Willum." 

Away  sauntered  Meadows,  leaving 
William  planted  there,  as  the  French 
say. 

George  ran  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"  Well  ? " 

"  He  says  he  has  got  no  money 
loose." 

"  He  is  a  liar  !  he  paid  £1,500  into 
the  bank  yesterday,  and  you  knew  it  ; 
did  n't  you  tell  him  so  1 

"No  ;  what  use  ?  A  man  that  lies 
to  avoid  lending  won't  be  driven  to 
lend." 

"  You  don't  play  fair,"  retorted 
George.  "  You  could  have  got  it 
from  Meadows,  if  you  had  a  mindt ; 
but  you  want  to  drive  your  poor 
brother  against  his  sweetheart's  fa- 
ther ;  you  are  false,  my  lad." 

"  You  are  the  only  man  that  ever 
said  so;  and  you  durst  n't  say  it,  if 
you  were  n't  my  brother." 

"  If  it  was  n't  for  that,  I  'd  say  a  deal 
more." 

"  Well,  show  your  high  stomach  to 
Uncle  Merton,  for  there  he  is.     Hy ! 

—  uncle!"  cried  William  to  Merton, 
who  turned  instantly  and  came  to- 
wards them.  "  George  wants  to  speak 
to  you,"  said  William,  and  shot  like 
a  cross-bow  bolt  behind  the  house.        I 

"  That  is  lucky,"  said  Merton, 
"  for  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

*'  Who  would  have  thought  of  his 
being  about  ?  "  muttered  George. 

While  George  was  calling  up  his 
courage  and  wits  to  open  his  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Merton,  who  had  no  such 
difficulties,  was  beforehand  with 
him. 

"  You  are  threshing  out  new 
wheat  ?  "  said  Merton,  gravely. 

"  Yes,"  answered  George,  looking 
down. 

"  That  is  a  bad  lookout ;  a  farmer 
has  no  business  to  go  to  his  barn  door 
for  his  rent." 

"  Where  is  he  to  go,  then?  to  the 
church  door,  and  ask  for  a  mira- 
cle?" 

"  No  ;  to  his  ship-fold,  to  be  sure." 


"  Ay  !  you  can  ;  you  have  got  grass 
and  water  and  everything  to  hand." 

"  And  so  must  you,  young  man,  or 
you  '11  never  be  a  farmer.  Now, 
George,  I  must  s[)eak  to  you  serious- 
ly" (George  winced).  "You  are  a 
fine  lad,  and  I  like  you  very  well,  but 
I  love  my  own  daughter  better." 

"  So  do  I !  "  said  George,  simply. 

"  And  I  must  look  out  for  her,"  re- 
sumed Merton.  "  I  have  seen  a  pret- 
ty while  how  things  are  going  here, 
and  if  she  marries  you  she  will  have 
to  keep  you,  instead  of  you  her." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  matters  are  not 
so  bad  as  that,  uncle." 

"  You  are  too  much  of  a  man,  I 
hope,"  continued  Merton,  "  to  eat  a 
woman's  bread  ;  and,  if  you  are  not, 
I  am  man  enough  to  keep  the  girl 
from  it." 

"  These  are  hard  words  to  bear," 
gasped  George.  "  So  near  my  own 
house,  old  man." 

"  Well,  plain  speaking  is  best  when 
the  mind  is  made  up,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  this  from  Susanna,  as  well  as 
you  ?  "  said  George,  with  a  trembling 
lip,  and  scarce  able  to  utter  the 
words. 

"  Susan  is  an  obedient  daughter. 
What  I  say  she  '11  stand  to ;  and  I 
hope  you  know  better  than  to  tempt 
her  to  disobey  me ;  you  would  n't 
succeed." 

"  Enough  said,"  answered  George, 
very  sternly,  —  "enough  said,  old 
man  ;  I  've  no  need  to  tempt  any 
girl." 

"  G^od  morning,  George  !  "  and 
away  stumped  Merton. 

"  Good  morning,  uncle  !  (ungrate- 
ful old  thief)." 

"  William,"  cried  he  to  his  broth- 
er, who  came  the  next  minute  to  hear 
the  news,  "  our  mother  took  liim  out 
of  tlic  dirt,  —  I  have  heard  her  say  as 
much,  —  or  he  'd  not  have  a  ship-fold 
to  brag  of.    ()  my  heart !  O  Will—  " 

"  Well,  will  he  lend  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  never  asked  him." 

"  You  never  asked  him  !  "  cried 
William. 

"  Bill,  he  began  upon  me  in  a  mo- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


15 


racnt,"  said  George,  looking  appeal- 
ingly  into  his  brotlier's  face  ;  "  he  sees 
we  are  going  down  hill,  and  he  as 
good  as  bade  me  think  no  more  of 
Susan." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  harshly, 
"  it  was  your  business  to  own  the 
truth,  and  ask  him  help  ns  over  the 
stile,  —  he 's  our  own  blood." 

"  You  want  to  let  me  down  lower 
than  I  would  let  that  Carlo  dog  of 
yours.  You  're  no  brother  of  mine," 
retorted  George,  fiercely  and  bitterly. 

"  A  bargain  is  a  bargain,"  replied 
the  other,  sullenly.  "  I  asked  Mead- 
ows, and  he  said  no.  You  fell  talk- 
ing with  uncle  about  Susan,  and  nev- 
er put  the  question  to  him  at  all. 
Who  is  the  false  one,  eh  ?  " 
I  "  If  you  call  me  false,  I  '11  knock 
your  ugly  head  off,  sulky  Bill." 

"  You  're  false,  and  a  fool  into  the 
bargain,  bragging  George  ! " 

"  What,  you  will  have  it,  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  give  it  me." 

"  Well,  if  it  is  to  be,"  said  George, 
"  I  '11  give  you  something  to  put  you 
on  your  mettle  :  the  best  man  shall 
farm  *  The  Grove,'  and  the  other 
shall  be  a  servant  on  it,  or  go  else- 
where, for  I  am  sick  of  this." 

"And  so  am  I!"  cried  William, 
hastily ;  "  and  have  been  any  time 
this  two  years." 

They  tucked  up  their  sleeves  a  lit- 
tle, shook  hands,  and  then  retired  each 
one  step,  and  began  to  fight. 
,  And  how  came  these  two  honest 
men  to  forget  that  the  blood  they  pro- 
posed to  shed  was  thicker  than  wa- 
ter? Was  it  the  farm,  money,  agri- 
cultural dissension,  temper  ?  They 
would  have  told  you  it  was,  and  per- 
haos  thnught  it  was.  It  was  Susanna 
Merton  ! 

Tiie  secret,  subtle  influence  of  jeal- 
ousy had  long  been  fermenting,  and 
now  it  exploded  in  this  way  and  un- 
der this  di>guise. 

Ah  !  William  Fielding,  and  all  of 
you,  "  beware  of  jealousy,"  —  cursed 
jealousy !  it  is  the  sultan  of  all  the 
passion<!,  and  the  Tartar  chief  of  all 
the  crimes.     Other  passions  affect  the  I 


character ;  this  changes,  and,  if  good, 
always  reverses  it !  Mind  that,  re- 
verses it !  turns  honest  men  to  snakes, 
and  doves  to  vultures.  Horrible  un- 
natural mixture  of  Love  with  Hate, 

—  you  poison  the  whole  mental  con- 
stitution,—  you  bandage  the  judg- 
ment, —  you  crush  the  sense  of  riglit 
and  wrong,  —  you  steel  the  bowels  of 
compassion,  —  you  madden  the  brain, 

—  you  corrupt  the  heart,  —  you  damn 
the  soul. 

The  Fieldings,  then,  sliook  hands 
mechanically,  and  receding  each  a 
step  began  to  spar. 

Each  of  these  farmers  fancied  him- 
self slightly  the  best  man  ;  but  they 
both  knew  they  had  an  antagonist 
with  whom  it  would  not  do  to  make 
the  least  mistake. 

They  therefore  sparred  and  feinted 
with  wary  eye  before  they  ventured 
to  close ;  George,  however,  the  more 
impetuous,  was  preparing  to  come  to 
closer  quarters  when  all  of  a  sudden 
to  the  other's  surprise  he  dropped  his 
hands  by  his  sides,  and  turned  the 
other  way  with  a  face  anything  but 
warlike,  fear  being  now  the  promi- 
nent expression. 

William  followed  the  direction  of 
his  eye,  and  then  William  partook  his 
brother's  uneasiness ;  however,  he 
put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  be- 
gan to  saunter  about,  in  a  circumfer- 
ence of  three  yards,  and  to  get  up 
a  would-be-careless  whistle,  while 
George's  hands  became  dreadfully  in 
his  way,  so  he  washed  them  in  the 
air. 

Whilst  they  were  employed  in  this 
peaceful  pantomime  a  beautiful  young 
woman  glided  rapidly  between  the 
brothers. 

Her  first  words  renewed  their  un- 
easiness. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  cried  she,  liaugh-  ' 
tily ;  and  she  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  like  a  queen  rebuking  her  sub- 
jects. 

George  looked  at  William,  —  Wil- 
liam had  nothing  ready. 

So  George  said,  with  some  hesi- 
tation,  but    in   a  mellifluous    voice, 


16 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


"  William  was  showing  me  —  a  trick 
—  he  leurm^d  at  the  fair,  —  that  is  all, 
Susan." 

"  That  is  a  falsehood,  George,"  re- 
plied the  lady,  *'  the  first  you  ever 
told  nic "  ((ieorgo  colored);  "you 
were  lighting,  you  two  boys,  I  saw 
your  eyes  flash  !  " 

The  rueful  wink  exchanged  by  the 
combatants  at  this  stroke  of  sagacity 
was  truly  delicious. 

"  O  fie  !  O  fie  !  brothers  by  one 
mother  fighting,  —  in  a  Christian 
land,  —  within  a  stone's  throw  of  a 
church,  where  brotherly  love  is 
preached  as  a  debt  we  owe  to  stran- 
gers, let  alone  our  own  blood." 

"  Yes  !  it  is  a  sin,  Susan,"  said  Wil- 
liam, his  conscience  suddenly  illumi- 
nated. "  So  I  ask  your  pardon,  Su- 
sanna." 

"  O,  it  was  n't  your  fault,  I  '11  be 
bound,"  was  the  gracious  reply. 
"  What  a  ruffian  you  must  be,  George, 
to  shed  your  brother's  blood  !  " 

"  La  !  Susan,"  said  George,  with  a 
doleful  whine,  "  I  was  n't  going  to 
shed  the  beggar's  blood.  I  was  only 
going  to  give  him  a  hiding  for  his  ina- 
pudence." 

"  Or  take  one  for  your  own,"  replied 
William,  coolly. 

"  That  is  more  likely,"  said  Su- 
san. "  George,  take  William's  hand  ; 
take  it  this  instant,  I  say,"  cried  she, 
with  an  air  imperative  and  impa- 
tient. 

"  Well,  why  not?  don't  you  go  in 
a  passion,  Susan,  about  nothing,"  said 
George,  coaxingly. 

They  took  hands  ;  she  made  them 
hold  one  another  by  the  hand,  which 
they  did  with  both  their  heads  hang- 
ing down.  "  Whilst  I  speak  a  word 
to  you  two,"  said  Susan  Merton. 

"  You  ouirht  both  to  go  on  your 
knees,  and  thank  l*i-ovideiice  that  sent 
me  here  to  i>revent  so  great  a  crime  ; 
and  as  for  you,  your  character  must 
chan<re  grtatly,  George  Fielding,  be- 
fore I  trust  myself  to  live  in  a  house 
of  yours." 

"  Is  all  the  blame  to  fall  on  my 
head  ?  "  said  George,  letting  go  Wil- 


liam's hand  with   no  great  apparent 
reluctance. 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  William  is  a  quiet 
lad,  that  quarrels  with  nobody  ;  you 
ar,e  always  quarrelling  ;  you  thrashed 
our  carter  last  Candlemas." 

"  He  spoke  saucy  words  about 
you." 

Susan,  smiling  inwardly,  made  her 
face  as  repulsive  outside  as  lay  in  her 
power. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Susan  ; 
"  your  time  was  come  round  to  fight 
and  be  a  ruffian,  and  so  it  was  to-day, 
no  doubt." 

"Ah!"  said  George,  sorrowfully, 
"  it  is  always  poor  George  that  does  all 
the  wrong." 

"  O,"  replied    the    lady,   an    arch 
smile  playing  for  a  moment  about  her* 
lips,  "  I  could  scold   William,  too,  if 
you  think  I  am  as  much  interested  in 
his  conduct  and  behavior  as  in  yours." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  George,  brighten- 
ing up,  "  don't  think  to  scold  anybody 
but  me,  Susan  ;  and,  William,"  said 
he,  suddenly  and  frankly,  "  I  ask  your 
pardon." 

"  No  more  about  it,  George,  if  you 
please,"  answered  William,  in  his  dog- 
ged way. 

"  Susan,"  said  George,  "you  don't 
know  all  I  have  to  bear.  My  heart  is 
sore,  Susan,  dear.  Uncle  twitted  me 
not  an  hour  ago  with  my  ill  luck,  and 
almost  bade  me  to  s'peak  to  you  no 
more,  leastways  as  my  sweetheart; 
and  that  Avas  why,  when  William  came 
at  me  on  the  top  of  such  a  blow,  it 
was  more  than  I  could  bear ;  and, 
Susan,  Susan,  uncle  said  you  would 
stand  to  whatever  he  said." 

"  George,"  said  Susan,  gently,  "  I 
am  very  sorry  my  father  was  so  un- 
kind." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  Susan;  that  is 
the  first  drop  of  dew  that  has  fallen  on 
me  to-day." 

'*  But  obedience  to  parents,"  con- 
tinued Susan,  interrogating  as  it  were 
her  conscience,  "  is  a  great  duty.  I 
hope  I  shall  never  disobey  my  lather," 
faltered  she. 

"  Oh  !  "  answered  the  goose  George, 


T   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


17 


ha<5ti]y,  "I  don't  want  any  girl  to  be 
kind  to  me  that  does  not  love  me  ;  I 
am  so  nnlucky,  it  would  not  be  worth 
her  while,  3-011  know." 

At  this  Susan  answered  still  more 
sharply  :  "  No,  I  don't  think  it  would 
1)6  worth  any  woman's  while,  till 
your  character  and  temper  undergo  a 
change." 

George  never  answered  a  word,  but 
went  and  leaned  his  head  upon  tlie 
side  of  a  cart  that  stood  half  in  and 
half  out  of  a  shed  close  by. 

At  this  juncture  a  gay  personage 
joined  the  party.  He  had  a  ball  waist- 
coat, an  alarming  tie,  a  shooting- 
jacket,  wet  muddy  trousers  and  shoes, 
and  an  empty  basket  on  his  back. 

He  joined  our  group,  just  as  George 
was  saying  to  himself,  very  sadly,  "  I 
am  in  everybody's  way  here,"  —  and 
he  attacked  him  directly. 

"  Everybody  is  in  this  country." 

The  reader  is  to  understand  that 
this  Robinson  was  last  from  Califor- 
nia ;  and  California  had  made  such 
an  impression  upon  him,  that  he 
turned  the  conversation  that  way  of- 
tener  than  a  well-regulated  under- 
standing recurs  to  any  one  topic,  ex- 
cejit  perhaps  religion.  • 

He  was  always  pestering  George  to 
go  to  California  with  him,  and  it  must 
be  owned  that  on  this  one  occasion 
Geornfc  had  given  him  a  fair  handle. 

"  Come  out  of  it,"  continued  Rob- 
inson, "  and  make  your  fortune." 

"  You  did  not  make  yours  there," 
said  Susan,  sharply. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  miss.  I  made 
it,  or  how  could  I  have  spent  it  1  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  William  :  "  what 
comes  by  the  wind  goes  by  the  water." 

"  Alluding  to  the  dust"^?  "  inquired 
the  Cockney. 

"  Gold  dust  especially,"  retorted 
Susan  Morton. 

Robinson  laughed.  "  The  ladies 
are  sharp,  even  in  Berkshire,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Robinson  then  proceeded  to 
disabuse  their  minds  about  the  facility 
of  gold. 

•'  A  crop  of  gold,"  said  he,  "  does 
not  come  by  the  wind  any  more  than 


a  cro])  of  corn  ;  it  comes  by  harder 
digging  than  your  potatoes  ever  saw, 
and  harder  work  than  you  ever  did,  — ■ 
oxen  and  horses  perspu-e  for  you, 
Fielding  No.  2." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  horse  or  an  ox 
mow  an  acre  of  grass  or  barley  ■*  " 
retorted  William,  dryly. 

"Don't  brag,"  replied  the  other; 
"  they  '11  eat  all  you  can  mow,  and 
never  say  a  word  about  it  " 

This  repartee  was  so  suited  to  the  rus- 
tic idea  of  wit,  that  Robinson's  antago- 
nists laughed  heartily,  except  George. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  1  " 
said  Robinson,  sotto  voce,  indicating 
George. 

"  O,  he  is  cross,  never  mind  him," 
replied  Susan,  ostentatiously  loud. 
George  winced,  but  never  spoke  back 
to  her. 

Robinson  tlicn  proceeded  to  disabuse 
the  rural  mind  of  the  notion  that  gold 
is  to  h%  got  without  hard  toil  even  in 
California :  he  told  them  how  the 
miners'  shirts  were  wet  through  and 
through  in  the  struggle  for  gold  ;  he 
told  them  how  tlie  little  boys  de- 
manded a  dollar  apiece  for  washing 
these  same  garments  ;  and  how  the 
miners,  to  escape  this  extortion,  sent 
their  linen  to  China  in  ships  on  Mon- 
day morning,  and  China  sent  them 
back  on  Saturday,  only  it  was  Satur- 
day six  weeks. 

Next  Mr.  Robinson  proceeded  to 
draw  a  parallel  between  England  and 
various  nations  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  not  at  all  complimentary 
to  his  island  home  ;  above  all,  he  was 
eloquent  on  the  superior  dignity  of 
labor  in  new  countries. 

"I  heard  one  of  your  clodhoppers 
say  the  other  day,  '  The  squire  is  a 
good  gentleman,  he  often  gives  me  a 
day's  ivork.'  Now  I  should  think  it 
was  the  clodhopper  gave  the  gentleman 
the  day's  work,  and  the  gentleman 
gave  him  a  shilling  for  it,  —  and  made 
five  by  it." 

William  Fielding  scratched  his 
head  :  this  was  a  new  view  of  things 
to  him,  but  there  seemed  to  be  some- 
thins:  in  it. 


18 


T   IS   NEVEIi   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND. 


"Ay!  rake  that  into  your  upper 
soil,"  cried  our  n-puhlicau  orator  ; 
then,  collecting  into  one  his  scattered 
items  of  argument,  he  invited  his 
friend  Geoige  to  take  his  muscle, 
pluck,  wind,  backl)oiic,  and  s.  "f  out 
of  tills  miserable  country,  ai.  1  come 
where  the  best  man  has  a  chance  to  win. 
""Cbmc,  George,"  he  cried,  "Eng- 
land is  the  spot  if  you  happen  to  be 
married  to  a  duke's  daugliter,  :.nd  got 
fifty  thousand  a  year  and  three  houses. 

''And  a  coach. 

"And  a  brougham. 

"  And  a  curricle. 

"  And  ten  brace  of  pointers. 

"  And  a  telescope  so  big  the  stars 
must  move  to  it,  instead  of  it  to  the 
stars. 

"  And  no  end  of  pretty  housemaids. 

"  And  a  butler  with  a  poultice 
round  his  neck  and  whiskers  like  a 
mop-head. 

"  And  a  silver  tub  full  of  rose-water 
to  sit  in  and  read  the  Morning  Post. 
--..JJyAnd  a  green-house  full  of  peaches, 
—  and  green  peas  all  the  year  round. 

"And  a  pew  in  the  church  warmed 
with  biling  eau  de  Cohrjne. 

"  And  a  carpet  a  foot  thick. 

"  And  a  piano-forte  in  every  blessed 
room  in  the  house.  But  this  island 
is  the  dead  sea  to  a  poor  man." 

He  then,  diverging  fi-om  the  rhetor- 
ical to  the  metropolitan  style,  pro- 
posed to  his  friend  "  to  open  one  eye : 
that  will  show  you  this  liole  you  are 
in  is  all  poor,  hungry  arable  ground. 
You  know  you  can't  work  it  to  a 
profit."  (George  winced.)  "No! 
steal,  borrow,  or  beg  £  500.  Carry 
out  a  cargo  of  pea  jackets  and  four- 
penny  bits  to  swap  for  gohl-iliist,  a 
few  iooU,  a  stout  heart,  and  a  light 
pair  of — '  Oh  no,  we  never  mention 
them,  their  name  is  never  heard  '  — 
and  we  '11  soon  till  both  pockets  with 
the  shiny  in  California." 

All  this  'Mr.  liobinson  delivered 
with  a  voluliility  to  which  Berkshire 
had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 

"A  crust  of  bread  in  England 
before  butfalo  beef  in  California,"  was 
George's  reply ;  but  it  was  not  given 


in  that  assured  tone  with  wliieh  he 
would  have  laughed  at  Koliinson's 
eloipunce  a  week  ago. 

'"  1  could  not  live  with  all  those 
thieves  and  ruthans  that  are  settled 
down  there  like  crows  on  a  dead 
horse  ;  but  1  thank  you  kindly,  my  lad, 
all  the  same,"  said  the  tender-hearted 
young  man. 

"  Strange,"  thought  he,  "  that  so 
many  should  sing  me  the  same  tune  "  ; 
and  he  fell  back  into  his  revery. 

Here  they  were  all  summoned  to 
dinner,  with  a  dash  of  asperity,  by 
Sarah,  the  stout  farm-servant. 

Susan  lingered  an  instant  to  speak 
to  George :  she  chose  an  unfortunate 
topic.  She  warned  him  once  more 
against  Mr.  Robinson. 

"  My  father  says  that  he  has  no 
business  nor  trade,  and  he  is  not  a 
gentleman,  in  spite  of  his  red  and 
green  cravat,  so  he  must  be  a  rogue 
of  some  sort." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  his  greatest  fault  ? " 
was  the  bitter  reply.  "  He  is  my 
friend ;  he  is  the  only  creature  that 
has  spoken  kind  words  to  mo  to-day. 
O,  I  saw  how  cross  you  looked  at 
him."     • 

Susan's  eyes  flashed,  and  the  col- 
or rose  in  her  cheek,  and  the  water  in 
her  eyes. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  George,"  said 
she  ;  "  you  <lon't  know  how  to  read  a 
woman,  nor  her  looks,  nor  her  words 
either." 

And  Susan  was  very  angry  and 
disdainful,  and  did  not  speak  to 
George  all  dinner-time.  ^ 

As  for  poor  George,  he  followed  her 
into  the.  house  with  a  heart  both  sick 
anil  heavy.  . 

This  Berkshire  farmer  had  a  proud  I 
and  sensitive  nature  under  a  homely] 
crust. 

Old  Mcrton's  words  had  been  iron  ' 
passing  through  his  soul,  and,  besides, 
he  felt'  as  if  everything  was  turning 
cold  and  slippery  and  gliding  from  his 
hand.  He  shivered  with  vague  fears, 
and  wished  the  sun  would  set  at  one 
o'clock  and  the  sorrowful  day  come  to 
an  end. 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TCT'MEiSC- 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  meal  passed  almost  in  silence  ; 
Uobinson  was  too  hungry  to  say  a 
word,  and  a  weight  hung  upon  George 
and  Susan. 

As  they  were  about  to  rise,  William 
observed  two  men  in  the  farm-yard 
who  were  strangers  to  him,  —  the  men 
seemed  to  be  inspecting  the  hogs.  It 
struck  him  as  rather  cool ;  but  appax-- 
ently  the  pig  is  an  animal  which  to  be 
prized  needs  but  to  be  known,  for  all 
connoisseurs  of  him  are  also  enthusi- 
astic amateurs. 

When  I  say  the  pig,  I  mean  the 
four-legged  one. 

William  Fielding,  partly  from  curi- 
osity to  hear  these  sti-angers'  remarks, 
partly  hoping  to  find  customers  in 
them,  strolled  into  the  farm-yard  before 
his  companions  rose  from  the  table. 

The  others,  looking  carelessly  out  of 
the  window,  saw  William  join  the  two 
men  and  enter  into  conversation  with 
them  ;  but  their  attention  was  almost 
immediately  diverted  from  that  group 
by  the  entrance  of  Meadows.  He 
came  in  radiant;  his  face  was  a  re- 
markable contrast  to  the  rest  of  the 
party. 

Susan  could  not  help  noticing  it. 

"  Why,  *^Ir.  Meadows,"  cried  she, 
"  you  look  as  bright  as  a  May  morn- 
ing ;  it  is  quite  refreshing  to  see  you ; 
we  are  all  rather  down  here  this  morn- 
ing." 

Meadows  said  nothing,  and  did  not 
seem  at  his  ease  under  this  remark. 

George  rose  from  the  table ;  so  did 
Susan  ;  Robinson  merely  pushed  back 
his  chair,  and  gave  a  comfortable  lit- 
tle sigh,  but  the  next  moment  ho 
cried,  "  Hallo  !  " 

They  looked  up,  and  there  was  Wil- 
liam's f  ice  close  against  the  window. 

William's  face  was  remarkably  ]):Ue, 
and  first  he  tried  to  attract  George's 
attention  without  speaking,  but,  find- 
ing himself  observed  by  the  whole 
party,  hft  spoke  out. 

"  George,  v/ill  you  s-peak  a  word  1 " 
eaid  he. 

George  rose  and  went  out ;    but 


Susan'^  curiosity  was  wakened,  and 
she  fq^cnved  him,  accompanied  by 
Meado^tj. 

"  Non'e'  tut  you,  George,"  said 
William,  whh  a  voice  ha|^  s.teru,  half 
quivering.  .  .  1./- 

George  looked  at  his  brother. 

"  Out  with  it,"  cried  he,  "  it  is  some 
deadly  ill-luck;  I  have  felt  it  coming 
all  day,  but  out  with  it ;  what  can't  I 
bear  after  the  words  1  have  borne  this 
morning  1 " 

William  hung  his  head. 

"  George,  there  is  a  distress  upon 
the  farm  for  the  rent." 

George  did  not  speak  at  first,  he 
literally  staggered  under  these  words ; 
his  proud  spirit  writhed  in  his  coun- 
tenance, and  with  a  groan  he  turned 
his  back  abruptly  upon  them  all,  and 
hid  his  face  against  the  corner  of  his 
own  house,  the  cold  hard  bricks. 

Meadows  by  strong  self-command 
contrived  not  to  move  a  muscle  of 
his  face. 

Up  to  this  day  and  hour,  Susan 
Merton  had  always  seemed  cool,  com^ 
pared  with  her  lover  ;  she  used  to 
treat  him  a  little  de  hunt  en  has. 

But  when  she  saw  his  shame  and 
despair,  she  was  much  distressed. 

"  George,  George  !  "  she  cried, 
"  don't  do  so  :  can  nothing  be  done  1 
Where  is  my  father  1  —  they  told  me 
he  was  here  ;  he  is  rich,  he  shall  help 
you."  She  darted  from  them  in 
search  of  Merton  ;  ere  she  could  turn 
the  angle  of  the  house  he  met  her. 

"  You  had  better  go  home,  my 
girl,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"  0  no  !  no  !  I  have  been  too  un- 
kind to  George  already " ;  and  she 
turned  towards  him  like  a  pitying 
angel  with  hands  extended  as  if  they 
would  bring  balm  to  a  hurt  soul. 

Meadows  left  chuckling,  and  was 
red  and  white  by  turns. 

Merton  was  one  of  those  friends 
one  may  make  sure  of  finding  in  ad- 
versity. 

"  There,"  cried  he,  "  George,  I 
told  you  how  it  would  end." 

George  wheeled  round  on  him  like 
lightning. 


20 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD. 


"  What,  do  you  come  here  to  insult 
over  me  '?  I  must  be  a  lonjx  way  lower 
than  I  am,  before  I  shall  be  as  low  as 
you  were  when  my  mother  took  you 
up  and  made  a  man  of  you." 

"  Georfre,  George  !  "  cried  Susan,  in 
dismay;  "  stop,  for  pity's  sake,  before 
you  say  words  that  will  separate  us 
forever.  Father,"  cried  the  peace- 
makin<;  angel,  "  how  can  you  push 
poor  George  so  hard  and  him  in 
trouble  !  and  we  have  all  been  too  un- 
kind to  him  to-day." 

Ere  cither  could  answer,  there  was 
happily  another  interruption.  A  smart 
servant  in  livery  walked  up  to  them 
with  a  letter.  With  the  instinctive 
feeling  of  class  they  all  endeavored  to 
conceal  their  agitation  from  the  gen- 
tleman's servant.  He  handed  George 
the  note,  and  saying,  "  I  was  to  wait 
for  an  answer.  Farmer  Fielding," 
sauntered  towards  the  farm-stables. 

"  From  Mr.  Winchester,"  said 
George,  after  a  long  and  careful  in- 
spection of  the  outside. 

In  the  country  it  is  a  point  of  honor 
to  find  out  the  writer  of  a  letter  by 
the  direction,  not  the  signature. 

"  The  Honorable  Francis  Winches- 
ter !  What  does  he  write  to  you  ?  "  cried 
Merton,  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise. 
This,  too,  was  not  lost  on  George. 

Human  nature  is  human  nature  : 
he  was  not  sorry  to  be  able  to  read  a 
gentleman's  letter  in  the  face  of  one 
who  had  bitterly  reproached  him,  and 
of  others  who  had  seen  him  mortified 
and  struck  down. 

"  Seems  so,"  said  George,  dryly, 
and  with  a  glance  of  defiance  ;  and  he 
read  out  the  letter. 

"  '  George  Fielding,  my  fine  felloAv, 
think  of  it  again  :  1  have  two  berths 
in  the  ship  that  sails  from  Southamp- 
ton to-morrow,  you  will  have  every 
comfort  on  the  voyage,  a  great  point. 
I  will  do  what  1  said  for  you'  (he 
promised  me  live  hundred  sheep  and 
a  run).  *I  must  have  an  honest  man, 
and  where  can  I  find  as  hoTiest  a 
man  as  George  Fielding  ?  '  (Thank 
you,  !Mr.  AVinchestcr,  George  Field- 
ing thanks  you,   eir.)"    And   there 


was  something  noble  and  simple  in 
the  way  the  young  farmer  drew  him- 
self u]),  and  looked  fearlessly  in  all 
his  companions  eyes. 

"'You  saved  my  life, — I  can  do 
nothing  for  you  here,  —  and  you  are 
doing  no  good  at  "  The  Grove,"  — 
everybody  says  so,'  —  (  everybody 
says  so  !  "  —  and  George  Fielding 
winced  at  the  words.) 

"  '  And  it  really  pains  me,  my  brave 
fellow,  to  go  without  you,  where  I 
know  I  could  put  you  on  the  way  of 
fortune  :  my  heart  is  pretty  stout ; 
but  home  is  home  ;  and  be  assured 
that  I  wait  with  some  anxiety  to 
know  whether  my  eyes  are  to  look  on 
nothing  but  water  for  the  next  four 
months,  or  are  to  be  cheered  by  the 
sight  of  something  from  home,  the 
foce  of  a  thorough-bred  English  yeo- 
man, and  —  a  friend  —  and  —  and — '  " 

Poor  George  could  read  no  more ; 
the  kind  word  coming  after  his  af- 
fronts and  troubles  brought  his  heart 
to  his  mouth. 

Susan  took  the  letter  from  him,  and 
read  out : — 

"  'And  an  upright,  downright  hon- 
est man,'  —  And  so  you  are, 
George  !  "  cried  she,  warmly,  draw- 
ing to  George's  side,  and  daitkig 
glances  of  defiance  vaguely  around. 
Then  she  continued  to  read  :  — 

"  '  If  the  answer  is  favorable,  a  word 
is  enough  :  meet  me  at  "  The  Crown," 
in  Newborough,  to-night,  and  we  will 
go  up  to  town  by  the  m.iil  train.'  " 

"  The  answer  is.  Yes,"  said  George 
to  the  servant,  who  was  at  some  dis- 
tance. 

Susan,  bending  over  the  letter, 
heard  but  could  not  realize  the  word, 
but  the  servant  now  came  nearer  : 
George  said  to  him  :  "  Tell  your  mas- 
ter. Yes." 

"  Yes  ?  George  !  "  cried  Susan, 
"  what  do  you  mean  by  yes  ?  It  is 
about  going  to  Australia." 

"  The  atiswer  is.  Yes,"  said  G-^oric. 

The  servant  went  away  with  the 
answer. 

The  others  remained  motionless. 

"  This  nobleman's  sou  respects  me 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


21 


if  worse  folk  don't :  but  it  is  not  the 
great  bloodhounds  and  greyhounds 
that  bark  at  misfortune's  heels,  it  is 
only  tlie  village  curs  when  all  is 
done ;  this  is  my  path.  I  '11  pack  up 
my  things  and  go."  And  he  did  not 
look  at  Susan  or  any  of  them,  but 
went  into  the  house  like  a  man  walk- 
ing in  his  sleep. 

There  was  a  stupefied  pause. 

Then  Susan  gave  a  cry  like  a 
wounded  deer. 

"  Father,  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

Mcrton  himself  had  been  staggered, 
but  he  replied  stoutly  :  — 

"  No  more  than  my  duty,  girl,  and 
I  hope  you  will  do  no  less  than 
yours." 

At  this  moment,  Robinson  threw 
up  the  window  and  jumped  out  into 
the  yard. 

Meadows,  under  stronger  interests, 
had  forgotten  Robinson  ;  but  now,  at 
sight  of  him,  he  looked  round,  and, 
catching  the  eye  of  a  man  who  was 
peei-ing  over  the  farm-yard  wall,  made 
him  a  signal. 

"  AVhat  is  the  matter  1  "  cried 
Robinson. 

•'  George  is  going  to  Australia," 
replied  Merton,  coldly. 
*  "  Australia  !  "  roared  Robinson,  — 
*'  Au-stralia !  he 's  mad,  who  ever 
goes  there  unless  they  are  forced  1 
He  sha'  n't  go  there  !  I  would  n't  go 
there  if  my  passage  was  paid,  and  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  given  me,  and 
the  governor's  gig  to  take  me  ashore 
to  a  mansion  provided  for  my  recep- 
tion, fires  lighted,  beds  aired,  and 
pipes  laid  across  upon  the  table." 

As  Robinson  concluded  this  tirade, 
the  policeman  and  constable,  who 
had  crept  round  the  angle  of  the 
farm-house,  came  one  on  each  side, 
put  eacli  a  hand  on  one  of  his  elbows, 
and —  took  him! 

He  looked  first  down  at  their  hands 
in  turn,  then  up  at  their  faces  in  turn, 
and,  when  he  saw  the  metropolitan's 
face,  a  look  of  simple  disgust  diffused 
itself  over  his  whole  countenance. 

"  Ugh  !  !  !  "  interjected  Robinson. 

"  Ay ! "     replied     the    policeman. 


while  putting  handcuffs  on  him. 
"  To  Australia  you  '11  go  for  all  that, 
Tom  Lyon,  alias  Scott,  alias  Robin- 
son, and  you'll  have  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  mostly  one  color,  and  voyage 
paid,  and  a  large  house  ashore  wait- 
ing for  you :  and  the  governor's  gig 
will  come  along-side  for  you,  provid- 
ed they  can't  find  the  convicts' 
barge  "  ;  and  the  official  was  pleased 
with  himself  and  his  wit,  and  allowed 
it  to  appear. 

But  by  this  time  Robinson  was 
on  his  balance  again.  "  Gentlemen," 
answered  he,  with  cold  dignity,  "  what 
am  I  to  understand  by  this  violence 
from  persons  to  whom  I  am  an  utter 
stranger  1 "  and  he  might  have  sat 
for  the  picture  of  injured  innocence. 
"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  you,  sir," 
added  he ;  "  and  by  the  titles  you 
give  me  it  seems  you  are  not  ac- 
quainted with  me." 

The  police  laughed,  and  took  out 
of  this  injured  man's  pocket  the  sto- 
len notes,  which  Meadows  instantly 
identified. 

Then  Mr.  Robinson  started  off  into 
another  key  equally  artistical  in  its 
way. 

"  Miss  Merton,"  snuffled  he,  "  ap- 
pearances are  against  me,  but,  mark  my 
words,  my  innocence  will  emerge  all 
the  brighter  for  this  temporary  cloud." 

Susan  Merton  ran  in-doors,  saying, 
"  0,  I  must  tell  George."  She  was  ' 
not  sorry  of  an  excuse  to  be  by 
George's  side,  and  remind  him  by  her 
presence  that  if  home  had  its  thorns 
it  had  its  rose-tree  too. 

News  soon  •  spreads  ;  rustic  heads 
were  seen  peeping  over  the  wall  to  see 
the  finale  of  the  fine  gentleman  from 
"  Lunnun  "  :  meantime  the  constable 
went  to  put  his  horse  in  a  four-wheel 
chaise  destined  to  convey  Robinson  to 
the  county  jail. 

If  the  rural  population  expected  to 
see  this  worthy  discomposed  by  so 
sudden  a  change  of  fortune,  they  were 
soon  undeceived. 

"  Well,  Jacobs,"  said  he,  with  sud- 
den familiarity,  "you  seem  uncom- 
mon pleased,  and   I   am  content.     I 


22 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


would  rather  have  gone  to  California ; 
but  any  place  is  better  than  Eiij^land. 
Lauj;h  those  who  win.  I  shall  breathe 
a  delicious  climate ;  you  will  make 
yourself  as  happy  as  a  prince,  that  is 
to  say,  miserable,  upon  fifteen  shillings 
and  two  colds  a  week  ;  my  sobriety 
and  industry  will  realize  a  fortune 
under  a  smiling  sun  :  let  chaps  that 
never  saw  the  world,  and  the  beautiful 
countries  there  are  in  it,  snivel  at 
leaving  tliis  island  of  fogs  and  rocks 
and  taxes  and  nobs,  the  rich  man's 
paradise,  the  poor  man's  —  I  never 
swear,  it 's  vulgar." 

While  he  was  crushing  his  captors 
with  his  eloquence,  George  and  Su- 
san came  together  from  the  house ; 
George's  face  betrayed  wonder  and 
something  akin  to  horror :  — 

"A  thief!"  cried  he.  "Have  I 
taken  the  hand  of  a  thief?  " 

"  It  is  a  business,  like  any  other," 
said  Robinson,  deprecatingly. 

"  If  you  have  no  shame,  I  have  ;  I 
long  to  be  gone  now." 

"  George !  "  whined  the  culprit, 
who,  strange  to  say,  had  become  at- 
tached to  the  honest  young  farmer. 
"  Did  ever  I  take  tithe  of  you  ?  You 
have  got  a  silver  caudle-cup,  a  heaven- 
ly old  coffee-pot,  no  end  of  spoons 
double  the  weight  those  rogues  the 
silversmiths  make  them  now ;  they 
are  in  a  box  under  your  bed  in  your 
room,"  added  he,  looking  down : 
"  count  them,  they  are  all  right ;  and, 
Miss  Merton,  your  bracelet,  the  gold 
one  with  the  cameo :  I  could  have 
had  it  a  hundred  times.  Miss  Merton, 
ask  him  to  shake  hands  with  me  at 
parting.  I  am  so  fond  of  him,  and 
perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

"  Shake  hands  with  you  ?  "  answered 
George,  sternly  ;  "  if  your  hands  were 
loose  I  doubt  I  should  ram  my  fist 
down  your  throat ;  but  there,  you  are 
not  worth  a  thought  at  such  a  time, 
and  you  are  a  man  in  troul)le,  and  I 
am  another.  I  forgive  you,  and  I 
pray  Heaven  I  may  never  see  your 
face  again." 

And  Honesty  turned  his  back  in 
Theft's  face. 


Robinson  bit  his  lip  and  said  noth- 
ing, but  his  eyes  glistened  ;  just  then 
a  little  boy  and  girl,  who  had  been 
peering  about  mighty  curious,  took 
courage  and  approached  hand  in 
hand.  The  girl  was  the  speaker,  as 
a  matter  of  course  :  — 

"Farmer  Fielding,"  said  she,  courte- 
sying.  —  a  mode  of  reverence  which 
was  instantly  copied  by  the  boy, — "  we 
are  come  to  see  the  thief ;  they  say  you 
have  caught  one  —  O  dear"  (and  her 
bright  little  countenance  was  over- 
cast), "I  could  n't  have  told  it  from 
a  man  ! " 

We  don't  know  all  that  is  in  the 
hearts  of  the  wicked.  Robinson  was 
observed  to  change  color  at  these  silly 
words. 

"  Mr.  Jacobs,"  said  he,  addressing 
the  policeman,  "  have  you  authority 
to  put  me  in  the  pillory  before  trial  ?  " 
He  said  this  coldly  and  sternly  ;  and 
then  added,  "  Perhaps  you  are  aware 
that  I  am  a  man,  and  I  might  say  a 
brother,  for  you  were  a  thief,  you 
know  !  "  Then,  changing  his  tone 
entirely,  "  I  say,  Jacobs,"  said  he, 
with  cheerful  briskness,  "  do  you  re- 
member cracking  the  silversmith's 
shop  in  Lambeth  along  with  Jem  Sal- 
isbury and  Black  George,  and  —  ?  " 

"  There,  the  gig  is  ready,"  cried 
Mr.  Jacobs ;  "  you  come  along,"  and 
the  ex-thief  pushed  the  thief  hastily 
off  the  premises  and  drove  him  away 
with  speed. 

George  Fielding  gave  a  bitter  sigh  : 
this  was  a  fresh  mortification.  He 
had  for  the  last  two  months  been  de- 
fending Robinson  against  the  surmises 
of  the  village. 

Villages  are  always  concluding 
there  is  something  wrong  about 
people. 

"  What  does  he  do  ?  "  inquired  our 
village. 

"  Where  does  he  get  his  blue  coat 
with  brass  buttons,  his  tartun  waist- 
coat and  green  satin  tie  with  red  ends  ? 
We  admit  all  this  looks  like  a  gen- 
tleman :  but  yet  somehow  a  gentle- 
man is  a  horse  of  another  color  than 
this  Robinson." 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


23 


George  had  sometimes  laughed  at 
all  this,  sometimes  been  very  angry, 
and  always  stood  up  stoutly  for  his 
friend  and  lodger. 

And  now  the  fools  were  right  and 
he  was  wrong  :  his  friend  and  pro- 
te'cje  was  handcuffed  before  his  eyes, 
and  carried  off  to  the  county  jail 
amidst  the  grins  and  stares  of  a  score 
of  gaping  rustics,  who  would  make  a 
fine  story  of  it  this  evening  in  both 
public-houses  ;  and  a  hundred  voices 
would  echo  some  such  conversational 
Tristich  as  this  :  — 

1st  Rustic.  "I  tawld  un  as  much, 
din  n't  I  now,  Jargc  ?  " 

2d  Rustic.  "  That  ye  did,  Richard, 
for  I  hcerd  ee." 

1st  Rustic.  "But,  la!  bless  ye,  he 
don't  vally  advice,  he  don't." 

George  Fielding  groaned  out :  "  I  'm 
ready  to  go  now,  —  I  'm  quite  ready 
to  go,  —  I  am  leaving  a  nest  of  in- 
sults "  ;  and  he  darted  into  the  house, 
as  much  to  escape  the  people's  eyes  as 
to  finish  his  slight  preparations  for  so 
great  a  journey. 

Two  men  were  left  alone,  —  sulky 
William  and  respectable  Meadows. 
Both  these  men's  eyes  followed 
George  into  the  house,  and  each  had 
a  strong  emotion  they  were  bent  on 
concealing,  and  did  conceal  from  each 
other  ;  but  was  it  concealed  from  all 
the  world  1 

The  farm-house  had  two  rooms 
looking  upon  the  spot  where  most  of 
our  tale  has  passed. 

The  smaller  one  of  these  was  a  lit- 
tle state  parlor,  seldom  used  by  the 
family.  Here  on  a  table  was  a  grand 
old  folio  Bible  ;  the  names,  births,  and 
deaths  of  a  century  of  Fieldings  ap- 
peared in  rusty  ink  and  various  hand- 
writings upon  its  fly-leaf 

Framed  on  the  walls  were  the  first 
savage  attempts  of  woman  at  worsted 
work  in  these  islands.  There  Avere 
two  moral  commonplaces,  and  there 
was  tiie  forbidden  fruit-tree  whose 
branches  diverged  at  set  distances, 
like  the  radii  of  a  circle  from  its  stem, 
a  perpendicular  line  ;  exactly  at  the 
end  of  each  branch  huns:  one  forbid- 


den   fruit,  —  pre-Raphaelite    worsted 
Avork. 

There  were  also  two  prints  of  more 
modern  date,  one  agricultural,  one 
manufactoral. 

No.  1  was  a  great  show  of  farming 
implements  at  Doncaster. 

No.  2  showed  how  one  day  in  the 
history  of  man  and  of  mutton  a  sheep 
was  sheared,  her  wool  washed,  teased, 
carded,  etc.,  and  the  cloth  ^'d  and  ^'d 
and  ^'d  and  ^'d,  and  a  coat  shaped 
and  sewed  and  buttoned  upon  a 
goose,  whose  preparations  for  inebri- 
ating the  performers  and  spectators 
of  his  feat  appeared  in  a  prominent 
part  of  the  picture. 

The  window  of  this  sunny  little 
room  was  open,  and  on  the  sill  was 
a  row  of  flower-pots,  from  which  a 
sweet,  fresh  smell  crept  with  the  pass- 
ing air  into  the  chamber. 

Behind  these  flower-pots  for  two 
hours  past  had  crouched  —  all  eye 
and  ear  and  mind  —  a  keen  old  man. 

To   Isaac   Levi   age   had   brought 
vast    experience,   and    had   not    yet 
dimmed  any  one  of  his  senses.     More     y 
than  forty-five  years  ago  he  had  been    \; 
brought  to  see  that  men  seldom  act     ''' 
or  speak  so  as  to  influence  the  fortunes      ] 
of  others  without  some  motive  of  their 
own  ;  and  that  these  motives  are  sel- 
dom the  motives  they  advance;  and 
that  their  real  motives  are  not  always 
known  to  themselves,  and  yet  can  near- 
ly always  be  read  and  weighed  by  an 
intelligent  by-stander. 

So  for  near  half  a  century  Isaac 
Levi  had  read  that  marvellous  page 
of  nature  written  on  black,  white,  and 
red  parchments,  and  called  "Man." 

One  result  of  his  perusal  was  this, 
that  the  heads  of  human  tribes  differ 
far  more  than  their  hearts. 

The  passions  and  the  heart  he  had 
found  intellin;i!)le  and  much  the  same 
from  Indus  to  the  Pole. 

The  people  of  our  tale  were  like 
men  walking  together  in  a  coppice ; 
they  had  but  glimpses  of  cacli  other's 
minds  :  but  to  Isaac,  behind  his  flow- 
er-pots, they  were  a  little  human  chart 
spread  out  flat  before  him,  and  not  a 


24 


"IT  IS  nevp:r  too  late  to  mend.' 


region  in  it  he  had  not  travelled  and 
surveyed  before  to-day ;  what  to  oth- 
ers passed  for  accident  to  him  was  de- 
sign ;  he  jjent'trated  more  than  one 
disj:;uise  of  manner  :  and  above  all  his 
intelli<j:ence  hored  like  a  centre-bit  in- 
to the  deej)  heart  of  his  enemy,  Mead- 
ows, and  at  each  turn  of  the  centre- 
bit  his  eye  flashed,  his  ear  lived,  and 
he  crouched  patient  as  a  cat,  keen  as 
a  lynx. 

He  was  forgotten,  but  not  by  all. 

Meadows,  a  cautious  man,  was  the 
one  to  ask  himself,  "  Wliere  is  that 
old  heathen,  and  what  is  he  doing  ?  " 

To  satisfy  himself.  Meadows  had 
come  smoothly  to  the  door  of  the  little 
apartment,  and  burst  suddenly  into  it. 

There  he  found  the  reverend  Israel- 
ite extended  on  a  little  couch,  a  ban- 
dana handkerchief  thrown  over  his 
face,  calmly  reposing. 

Meadows  paused,  eyed  him  keenly, 
listened  to  his  gentle  but  audible,  equa- 
ble breathing,  relieved  his  mind  by 
shaking  his  fist  at  him,  and  went  out. 
.  Thirty  seconds  later,  Isaac  awo^e.' 
spat  in  the  direction  of  Meadows,  and 
crouched  again  behind  the  innocent 
flowers,  patient  as  a  cat,  keen  as  a  lynx. 

So  then,  when  George  was  gone 
in,  William  Fielding  and  Mr.  Mead- 
ows both  felt  a  sudden  need  of  being 
alone  ;  each  longed  to  indulge  some 
feeling  he  did  not  care  the  other 
shoukl  see  ;  so  they  both  turned  their 
faces  away  from  each  other  and 
strolled  a])art. 

Isaac  Levi  caught  both  faces  off 
their  guard,  and  read  the  men  as  by 
a  lightning  flash  to  the  bottom  line 
of  their  hearts. 

For  two  hours  he  had  followed  the 
text,  word  by  word,  deed  by  deed, 
letter  by  letter,  and  now  a  comment 
on  that  text  was  written  in  these  faces. 

That   comment  said  that  William 

|was    rejoiced   at  George's  departure, 

and  ashamed  of  himself  for  the  feeling. 

That  Meadows  rejoiced  still  more, 
and  was  ashamed  anybody  should 
know  he  had  the  feeling. 

Isaac  withdrew  from  his  lair,  his 
task  was  done. 


"  Those  men  both  love  that  woman, 
and  this  Meadows  loves  her  wieh  all 
his  soul,  and  she,  —  aha!"  and  tri- 
umph flashed  from  under  his  dark' 
brows.  But  at  his  age  calm  is  the 
natural  state  of  the  mind  and  spirits  ; 
he  composed  himself  for  the  present, 
and  awaited  an  opportunity  to  strike 
his  enemy  Avith  effect. 

The  aged  man  had  read  Mr.  jMcad- 
ows  aright ;  under  that  modulated  ex- 
terior raged  as  deep  a  passion  as  ever 
shook  a  strong  nature. 

For  some  time  he  had  fought 
against  it. 

"  She  is  another  man's  sweetheart," 
he  had  said  to  himself;  "  no  good  will 
come  of  courting  her."  But  by  de- 
grees the  flax  bonds  of  prudence 
snapped  one  by  one  as  the  flame  every 
now  and  then  darted  at  them.  Mead- 
ows began  to  reason  the  matter  coolly. 

"  They  can  never  marry,  those  two. 
I  wish  they  would  marry  or  break  off, 
to  put  me  out  of  this  torture ;  but 
they  can't  marry,  and  my  sweet  Susan 
is  wasting  her  prime  for  nothing,  for 
a  dream :  besides,  it  is  not  as  if  she 
loved  him  the  way  I  love  her.  She 
is  like  many  a  young  maid  :  the  first 
comer  gets  her  promise  before  she 
knows  her  value.  They  walk  togeth- 
er, get  spoken  of;  she  settles  down 
into  a  groove,  aiid  so  goes  on,  whether 
her  heart  is  in  it  or  not ;  it  is  habit 
more  than  anything." 

Then  he  Avatched  the  pair,  and  ob- 
served that  Susan's  manner  to  George 
was  cool  and  off-hand,  and  that  she 
did  not  seem  to  seek  opportunities  of 
being  alone  with  him. 

Having  got  so  far,  he  now  felt  it  his 
duty  to  think  of  her  interest. 

lie  could  not  but  feel  that  he  was  a 
great  match  for  any  farmer's  daugh- 
ter; whereas  "  poor  young  Fielding," 
said  he,  compassionately,  "  is  more 
likely  to  break  as  a  baelielor  than  to 
support  a  wife  and  children  upon 
'  The  Grove.'  "    . 

He  next  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell 
with  some  bitterness  upon  the  j)(>()r 
destiny  that  stood  between  him  and 
the  woman  he  loved. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


25 


"  George  Fielding  !  a  dull  dog,  that 
could  be  just  as  happy  with  any  other 
girl  as  with  my  angel.  An  oaf,  so 
little  alive  to  his  prize,  that  he  does  n't 
even  see  he  has  rivals,  does  n't  see 
Jhat  his  brother  loves  her.  Ah  !  but 
I  see  that,  though ;  lovers'  eyes  arc 
sharp  :  does  n't  see  me,  who  mean  to 
take  her  from  both  these  Fieldings,  — 
and  what  harm?  It  isn't  as  if  their 
love  was  like  mine.  Heaven  forbid  I 
should  meddle  if  it  was.  A  few 
weeks  and  a  few  mugs  of  ale  would 
wasli  her  from  what  little  mind  either 
of  them  have  ;  but  I  never  loved  a 
woman  before,  and  never  could  look 
at  another  after  her." 

And  so  by  degrees  Meadows  saw 
that  he  was  quite  justified  in  his  re- 
solve to  win  Susan  Merton,  provid- 
ed IT  WAS  DONE  FAIRLY. 

This  resolve  taken,  ail  this  man's 
words  and  actions  began  to  be  colored 
more  or  less  by  his  secret  wishes  ;  and 
it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this 
was  the  hand  which  was  gently  but 
adroitly,  with  a  touch  here  and  a 
touch  there,  pushing  George  Fielding 
across  the  Ocean. 

You  see,  a  respectable  man  can  do 
a  deal  of  mischief;  more  than  a  rogue 
could. 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  from  Mead- 
ows had  caused  the  landlord  to  dis- 
train. 

A  hint  from  Meadows  had  caused 
Merton  to  affront  George  about  Su- 
san. 

A  tone  of  Meadows  had  closed  the 
bank  cash-box  to  the  Fieldings'  bill  of 
exchange,  and  so  on  :  and  now,  find- 
ing it  almost  impossible  to  contain  his 
exultation,  for  George  once  in  Aus- 
tralia he  felt  he  could  soon  vanquish 
Susan's  fiiint  preference,  the  result  of 
habit,  he  turned  off,  and  went  to  meet 
his  mare  at  the  gate ;  the  boy  had 
just  returned  with  her. 

He  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  but 
ere  he  mounted  it  occurred  to  him  to 
ask  one  of  the  farm-servants  whether 
the  old  Jew  was  gone. 

"  I  sin  him  in  the  bam  just  now," 
was  the  reply. 


Meadows  took  his  foot  out  of  the 
stirrup. 

Never  leave  an  enemy  behind  you, 
was  one  of  his  rules.  "  And  wliy 
does  the  old  heathen  stay  ?  "  he  asked 
himself;  he  clenched  his  tectli,  and 
vowed  he  would  not  leave  the  viihigo 
till  George  Fielding  was  on  his  way 
to  Australia. 

He  sent  his  mare  to  the  "  Black 
Horse,"  and  strolled  up  the  village; 
then  he  showed  the  boy  a  shilling,  and 
said,  "  You  be  sure  and  run  to  the 
public-house  and  let  me  know  when 
George  Fielding  is  going  to  start,  — 
I  should  like  to  see  the  last  of  him." 

This  was  true ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

And  now  passed  over  "  The  Grove  " 
the  heaviest  hours  it  had  ever  known, 
—  hours  as  weary  as  they  were  bitter  to 
George  Fielding.  "  The  Grove  "  was 
nothing  to  him  now,  —  in  mind  he 
was  already  separated  from  it ;  his 
clothes  were  ready,  he  had  nothing 
more  to  do,  and  he  wished  he  could 
fling  himself  this  moment  into  the 
ship,  and  hide  his  head,  and  sleep, 
and  forget  his  grief,  until  he  reached 
the  land  whose  fat  and  endless  pas- 
tures were  to  make  him  rich  and  send 
him  home  a  fitter  match  for  Susan. 

As  the  moment  of  parting  drew 
nearer,  there  came  to  him  that  tardy 
consolation  which  often  comes  to  the 
honest  man  then  when  it  can  but  add 
to  his  pangs  of  regret. 

Periiaps  no  man  is  good,  manly, 
tender,  generous,  honest,  and  unlucky 
quite  in  vain  ;  at  last,  when  such  a 
man  is  leaving  all  who  have  been  un- 
just or  cold  to  him,  scales  fall  from 
their  eyes,  a  sense  of  his  value  flashes 
like  lightning  across  their  half-empty 
skulls  and  tepid  hearts,  they  feel  and 
express  some  respect  and  regret,  and 
make  him  sadder  to  leave  them  ;  so 
did  the  neighbors  of  "  The  Grove  "  to 
young  Fielding.  Some  hands  gave 
him  now  their  first  warm  pressure. 


26 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


nnrl  one  or  two  voices  even  faltered  as 
they  snid,  "  God  bless  thee,  lad  !  " 

And  now  the  carter's  lad  ran  in 
■witli  a  message  from  a  farmer  at  the 
top  of  the  hill. 

"  0  Master  George,  Farmer  Dodd 
savs  if  you  please  he  could  n't  think 
to'  let  you  walk.  You  are  to  go  in 
his  gig  to  Newbury,  if  you  '11  walk 
11])  as  fur  as  his  farm  ;  he's  afeard  to 
come  down  oxir  hill,  a  says,  because  if 
111',  did,  Ilia  mare  'ud  kick  Iiis  gig  into 
to()th})icks,  hi'  says.  ( )  Master  George, 
1  he  sorry  ijou  Ik-  going  "  ;  and  tlic  boy, 
who  had  begun  quite  cheerfully,  end- 
ed in  a  whimper. 

"  I  thank  him  !  Take  my  bag,  boy, 
and  I  '11  follow  in  half  an  hour." 

Sarah  brought  out  the  bag,  and 
opened  it,  and,  weeping  bitterly,  put 
into  it  a  bottle  with  her  name  on  a 
bit  of  paper  tied  round  the  neck,  to 
remind  poor  George,  he  was  not  for- 
gotten at  "  The  Grove  "  ;  and  then  she 
gave  George  the  key  and  went  sadly 
in,  her  a])ron  to  her  eyes. 

And  now  George  iixcd  his  eye  on 
bi«  brother  William,  and  said  to  him, 


"  William,  will  you  come  with  me,  if 
you  please  1  " 

"  Ay,  George,  sure." 

They  went  through  the  farm-yard 
side  by  side;  neither  sjiokc,  and 
George  took  a  last  look  at  the  ricks, 
and  he  paused,  and  seemed  minded  to 
speak,  but  he  did  not,  he  only  mut- 
tered, "  Not  here."  'J'hen  George  led 
the  way  out  into  the  ])ad(lock,  and  so 
into  the  lane,  and  very  soon  they  saw 
the  village  church;  AVilliain  wondered 
George  did  not  speak.  They  passed 
under  the  yew-tree  into  tiic  church- 
yard ;  William's  heart  fluttered.  They 
found  the  vicar's  cow  browsing  on  the 
graves  ;  William  took  up  a  stone,  — 
George  put  out  his  hand  not  to  let  him 
hurt  her,  and  George  turned  her  gen- 
tly into  the  lane,  —  then  he  stepped 
carefully  among  the  graves.  Wil- 
liam followed  him,  his  heart  fluttering 
more  and  more  with  vague  fears  ;  Wil- 
liam knew  now  where  they  were  going, 
but  what  was  (ie(>r;^'e  going  to  say  to 
him  there  1  his  heart  beat  faint- like. 
By  and  by  the  brothers  came  to 
this  :  — 


I         THE   MORTAL  Bt||^  1 


V5V7p^' 


2^^ 


^^:^ 
,^^ 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


2V 


The  grave  was  between  the  two 
men,  —  and  silence,  —  both  looked 
doxvn. 

George  wliispcred,  "  Good  by, 
mother  !  She  never  thought  we 
sliould  be  parted  this  way."  Then 
he  turned  to  William,  and  opened  his 
mouth  to  say  something  more  to  him  : 
doubtless  that  which  he  had  come  to 
say,  but  apparently  it  was  too  much 
for  him.  I  think  he  feared  his  own 
resolution.  He  gasped,  and  with  a 
heavy  sigh  led  the  way  home.  Wil- 
liam walked  with  him,  not  knowing 
what  to  think,  or  do,  or  say  ;  at  last  he 
muttered,  "  I  would  n't  go,  if  my 
heart  was  here  !  " 

"  I  shall  go.  Will,"  replied  George, 
rather  steridy  as  it  seemed. 

When  they  came  back  to  the  house, 
they  found  several  persons  collected. 

Old  Fielding,  the  young  men's 
grandfather,  was  there  ;  he  had  made 
them  wheel  him  in  his  great  chair  out 
into  the  sun. 

Grandfather  Fielding  had  reached 
the  last  stage  of  human  existence. 
He  was  ninety-two  years  of  age. 
The  lines  in  his  face  were  cordage, 
his  aspect  was  stony  and  impassible, 
and  he  was  all  but  impervious  to 
passing  events  :  his  thin  blood  had 
almost  ceased  to  circulate  in  his  ex- 
tremities ;  for  every  drop  he  had  was 
needed  to  keep  his  old  heart  a  beat- 
ing at  all,  instead  of  stopping  like  a 
clock  that  has  run  down. 

Meadows  had  returned  to  see 
George  off,  and  old  Merton  was  also 
there,  and  he  was  one  of  those  whose 
hearts  gave  them  a  bit  of  a  twinge. 

"  George,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  vexed  for 
spenking  unkind  to  you  to-day  of  all 
days  in  the  year;  I  did  n't  think  we 
were  to  part  so  soon,  lad." 

"  No  more  about  it,  uncle,"  faltered 
George  ;  "  what  does  it  matter  now  1  " 

Susan  Merton  came  out  of  the 
housi' ;  she  had  caught  her  father's 
conciliatory  words  ;  she  seemed  com- 
posed, but  pale  ;  she  threw  her  arms 
round  her  father's  neck. 

"  O  father,"  said  she,  imploringly, 
"  I  thought  it  was  a  dreani,  but  he  is 


going,  he  is  really  going.  O,  don't 
let  him  go  from  us,  speak  him  fair, 
father,  his  spirit  is  so  high  !  " 

"  Susan  !  "  replied  the  old  farmer, 
"  mayhap  the  lad  thinks  me  his  ene- 
my, but  I  'm  not.  My  daughter  shall 
not  marry  a  ])ankrupt  farmer,  but  you 
bring  home  a  thousand  pounds, — 
just  one  thousand  pounds,  —  to  show 
me  you  are  not  a  fool,  and  you  shall 
have  my  daughter,  and  she  shall  have 
my  blessing." 

Meadows  exulted. 

"  Your  hand  on  that,  uncle,"  cried 
George,  with  ardor,  —  "  your  hand  on 
that  before  Heaven  and  all  present." 

The  old  farmer  gave  George  his 
hand  upon  it. 

"  But,  father,"  cried  Susan,  "  your 
words  are  sending  him  away  from 
me." 

"  Susan,"  said  George,  sorrowfully 
but  firmly,  "  I  am  to  go  :  but  don't 
forget  it  is  for  your  sake  I  leave  you, 
my  darling  Susan, — to  be  a  better 
man  for  your  sake.  Uncle,  since 
your  last  words  there  is  no  ill  will, 
but"  (bluntly)  "I  can't  speak  my 
heart  before  you." 

"  I  '11  go,  George,  I  '11  go  ;  sha'  n't 
be  said  my  sister's  son  had  n't  leave 
to  speak  his  mind  to  let  be  who 
atool,*  at  such  an  a  time." 

Merton  turned  to  leave  them,  but 
ei*e  he  had  taken  two  steps  a  most 
uidooked-for  inteiTuption  chained  him 
to  the  spot.  An  old  man,  Avith  a 
long  beard  and  a  glittering  eye,  was 
amongst  them  before  they  were 
aware  of  him  ;  he  fixed  his  eye  upon 
Meadows,  and  spoke  a  single  word, 
—  but  that  word  fell  like  a  sledge- 
hammer. 

"  No  !  !  "  said  Isaac  Levi,  in  the 
midst. 

"No  !  ! "  repeated  he,  to  John 
Meadows, 

Meadows  understood  perfectly  what 
"  No  "  meant,  —  a  veto  upon  all  his  ■ 
plans,  liopes,  and  wishes. 

"  Young     man,"    said     Isaac     to 
George,   "  you  shall  not  wander  forth 
from  the  home  of  your  fathers.'  These 
*  Let  oe  who  it  will,     Cui  libet. 


28 


*'IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


old  eyes  see  deeper  than  yours  "  (and 
he  sent  an  eye-stab  at  Meadows) ; 
"  you  arc  honest,  —  all  men  say  so,  — 
I  will  lend  you  the  money  lor  your 
rent,  and  one  who  loves  you  "  (and  he 
gave  .another  eye-stab  at  Meadows) 
•'  will  bless  me." 

"  O  yes,  I  bless  you !  "  cried  Su- 
san, innocently. 

The  late  exulting  Meadows  was  be- 
numbed at  this. 

"  Surely  Heaven  sends  you  tome," 
cried  Susan.  "  It  is  Mr.  Levi,  of 
Fain  borough." 

Here  was  a  diversion  :  Meadows 
cursed  the  intruder,  and  his  own  evil 
star  that  had  raised  him  up  so  ma- 
lignant an  enemy. 

"  All  my  web  undone  in  a  mo- 
ment," thought  he  ;  and  despair  be- 
gan to  take  possession  of  him. 

Susan,  on  the  other  hand,  was  all 
joy  and  hope  ;  William,  more  or  less 
despondent. 

The  old  Jew  glanced  from  one  to 
another,  read  them  all,  and  enjoyed 
his  triumph. 

But  when  his  eye  returned  to 
George  Fielding  he  met  with  some- 
thing he  had  not  reckoned  upon. 

Tlie  young  man  showed  no  joy,  no 
emotion.  He  stood  immovable,  like 
a  statue  of  a  man,  and,  when  he 
opened  his  lips,  it  was  like  a  statue 
speaking  with  its  marble  mouth. 

"  No  !  Susan.  No  !  old  man.  I 
aw  honest,  though  I  am  poor,  —  and 
proud,  though  you  have  seen  me  put 
to  shame  near  my  own  homestead 
more  than  once  to-day.  To  borrow 
without  a  chance  of  paying  is  next 
door  to  stealing  ;  and  I  should  never 
pay  you.  My  eyes  are  opened  in 
spite  of  my  heart.  I  can't  farm  '  The 
Grove  '  with  no  grass,  and  wheat  at 
forty  sliillings.  I  've  tried  all  I  know, 
and  I  can't  do  it.  Will,  there,  is  dy- 
ing to  try,  and  he  shall  try,  and  may 
Heaven  speed  his  plough  better  than 
it  has  poor  Geortre's." 

"  I  am  not  thinkini:  of  the  farm 
now,  George,"  said  William.  "  I  'm 
thinking  of  when  we  were  boys,  and 
used   to  play   marbles — together  — 


upon  the  tombstones."     And  he  fal« 
tered  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Levi !  seems  you  have  a 
kindness  for  me :  show  it  to  my 
brother  when  I  'm  away,  if  you  will 
be  so  <rood." 


Hi 


said   Isaac,  doubtfully. 


"  I  care  not  to  see  your  stout  young 
heart  give  way  as  it  will.  Ah,  me! 
I  can  pity  the  wanderer  from  home. 
I  will  speak  a  word  with  you,  and 
then  I  will  go  home." 

He  drew  George  aside,  and  made 
him  a  secret  communication. 

Merton  called  Susan  to  him,  and 
made  her  promise  to  be  prudent ; 
then  he  shook  hands  with  George,' 
and  went  away. 

Now  Meadows,  from  the  direction 
of  Isaac's  glance,  and  a  certain  half- 
surprised,  half-  contemptuous  look 
that  stole  over  George's  face,  sus- 
pected that  his  enemy,  whose  sagaci- 
ty he  could  no  longer  doubt,  was  warn- 
ing George  against  him. 

This  made  him  feel  very  uneasy 
where  he  was,  and  this  respectable 
man  dreaded  some  exposure  of  his  se- 
cret. So  he  said,  hastily,  "  I  '11  go 
along  with  you,  faimer  "  ;  and  in  a 
moment  was  by  Morton's  side,  as  that 
worthy  stopped  to  open  the  gate  that 
led  out  of  George's  premises.  His 
feelings  were  anything  but  pleasant 
when  George  called  to  him  :  — 

"No,  sir!  stop.  You  are  as  good 
a  witness  as  I  could  choose  of  what  I 
have  to  say.  Step  this  way  if  you 
please,  sir." 

Meadows  returned,  clenched  his 
teeth,  and  prepared  for  the  worst,  but 
Inwardly  he  cursed  his  uneasy  folly 
in  staying  here,  instead  of  riding 
home  the  moment  George  had  said 
"  Yes  !  "  to  Australia. 

George  now  looked  upon  the 
ground  a  moment ;  and  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  that  arrest- 
ed the  attention  of  all. 

Meadows  turned  hot  and  cold. 

"lam  p:oin^-  —  to  speak  —  to  my 
brother,  Mr.  Meadows  !  "  said  he, 
syllable  by  syllable,  to  Meadows,  in  a 
way  brimful  of  meaning. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


29 


**  To  me,  George  ?  "  said  William, 
a  litrle  uneasy. 

"  To  you !  Fall  hack  a  bit." 
(Some  rustics  were  encroaching  upon 
the  circle.)  "  Fall  back,  if  you  please ; 
this  is  a  family  matter." 

Isaac  Levi,  instead  of  going  quite 
away,  seated  himself  on  a  bench  out- 
side the  palings. 

It  was  now  William's  turn  to  flut- 
ter ;  he  said,  however,  to  himself,  "  It 
is  about  the  farm  ;  it  must  be  about 
the  farm." 

George  resumed.  "  I  've  often 
had  it  on  my  mind  to  speak  to  you, 
but  I  was  ashamed,  now  that 's  the 
truth  ;  but  now  I  am  going  away 
from  her  I  must  speak  out,  and  I  will 
—  WUliara  !  " 

"  Yes,  George  ?  " 

"  You  've  taken  —  a  fancy  —  to  my 
Susan,  William !  " 

At  these  words,  which,  though  they 
had  cost  him  so  much  to  say,  George 
spoke  gravely  and  calmly  like  com- 
mon words,  William  gave  one  star- 
tled look  all  round,  then  buried  his 
face  dii-ectly  in  his  hands  in  a  parox- 
ysm of  shame. 

Susan,  who  was  looking  at  George, 
remonstrated  loudly  :  "  How  can  you 
be  so  silly,  George !  I  am  sure  that 
is  the  last  idea  poor  William  —  " 

George  drew  her  attention  to  Wil- 
liam by  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

She  held  her  tongue  in  a  moment, 
and  turned  very  red,  and  lowered  her 
eyes  to  the  ground.  It  was  a  very  pain- 
ful situation,  —  to  none  more  than  to 
Meadows,  who  was  waiting  his  turn. 

George  continued  :  "  0,  it  is  not  to 
reproach  you,  my  poor  lad.  Who 
couM  be  near  her  and  not  warm  to 
her  ?  But  she  is  my  lass,  Will,  and 
no  other  man's.  It  is  three  years 
since  she  said  the  word.  And,  though 
it  was  my  hard  luck  there  should  be 
some  coolness  between  us  this  bitter 
day,  she  will  think  of  me  when  the 
ocean  rolls  between  us,  if  no  villain 
undermines  me  —  " 

"  Villain  !  George  !  "  groaned  Wil- 
liam. "  That  is  a  word  I  never 
thought  to  hear  from  you." 


"  That  's  why  I  speak  in  time," 
said  George.  "  I  do  su])pose  I  am 
safe  against  villany  here."  And  his 
eye  swept  lightly  over  both  the  men. 
"  Any  way,  itsha'  n't  he  a  mis-take  or 
a  ?H/s-understanding ;  it  shall  be  vil- 
lany if 'f/s  done.  Speak,  Susanna 
Merton,  and  speak  your  real  mind 
once  for  all," 

"  0  George,"  cried  Susan,  flut- 
tering with  love  ;  "  you  shall  not  go 
in  doubt  of  me.  We  are  betrothed  ♦ 
this  three  years,  and  I  never  regretted 
my  choice  a  single  moment.  I  never 
saw,  I  never  shall  see,  the  man  I  could 
bear  to  look  on  beside  you,  my  beau, 
tiful  George.  Take  my  ring  and  my 
promise,  George."  And  she  put  her 
ring  on  his  little  finger,  and  kissed  his 
hand.  "  Whilst  you  are  true  to  me, 
nothing  but  death  shall  part  us  twain. 
There  never  was  any  coolness  between 
us,  dear ;  you  only  thought  so.  You 
don't  know  what  fools  women  are ; 
how  they  delight  to  tease  the  man 
they  love,  and  so  torment  themselves 
ten  times  more.  I  always  loved  you, 
but  never  as  I  do  to-day;  so  hon- 
est, so  proud,  so  unfortunate ;  I 
love  you,  I  honor  you,  I  adore  you,  | 
oh  !  my  love !  —  my  love  !  — "  my 
love !  " 

She  saw  but  George,  — she  thought  - 
but  of  George,  —  and  how  to  soften 
his  sorrow,  and  remove  his  doubts  if 
he  had  any.  And  she  poured  out 
these  words  of  love  with  her  whole 
soul,  —  with  blushes  and  tears  and  all 
the  fire  of  a  chaste  and  passionate  wo- 
man's heart :  and  she  clung  to  her 
love ;  and  her  tender  bosom  heaved 
against  his ;  and  she  strained  him 
with  tears  and  sighs  to  her  bosom  ; 
and  he  kissed  her  beautiful  head ;  and 
his  suffering  heart  drew  warmth  from 
this  heavenh'  contact. 

The  late  exulting  Meadows  turned 
as  pale  as  ashes,  and  trembled  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Do  you  hear,  William  1 "  said 
George. 

"  I  hear,  George,"  replied  William, 
in  an  iron  whisper,  with  his  suUcri 
head  so-nk  upon  his  breast. 


CO 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


George  left-Susan,  and  came  be- 
tween her  and  William. 

"  Then,  Susan,"  said  he,  rather 
loud,  "  here  is  your  brother." 

William  winced. 

"  William  !  here  is  my  life  !  "  And 
he  pointed  to  Susan.  "  Let  no  man 
rob  me  of  it  if  one  mother  really  bore 
us."       - 

It  went  throuj^h  William's  heart 
like  a  burning;  arrow.  And  this  was 
why  Georj^e  had  taken  him  to  their 
mother's  grave.  That  flashed  across 
him  too. 

The  poor  sulky  fellow's  head  was 
seen  to  rise  inch  by  inch  till  he  held 
it  as  erect  as  a  king's. 

"  Never !  "  he  cried,  half  shouting, 
half  weeping,  —  "  never,  s'  help  me 
God !  She 's  my  sister  from  this 
hour,  —  no  more,  no  less.  And  may 
the  red  blight  fall  on  my  arm  and  my 
heart,  if  I  or  any  man  takes  her  from 
you,  —  any  man  !  "  he  cried,  his  tem- 
ples flushing,  and  his  eye  glittering; 
"  sooner  than  a  hxmdred  men  should 
take  her  from  you  while  I  am  here, 
I  'd  die  at  their  feet  a  hundred  times." 

Well  done,  sullen  and  rugged  but 
fhonest  man ;  the  capital  temptation 
of  your  life  is  wrestled  with  and 
thrown.  That  is  always  to  every 
man  a  close,  a  deadly,  a  bitter  strug- 
gle; and  we  must  all  wade  through 
this  deep  water  at  one  hour  or  another 
of  our  lives  :  it  is  as  surely  our  fate  as 
it  is  one  day  to  die. 

It  is  a  noble  sight  to  see  an  honest 
man  "  cleave  his  own  heart  in  twain, 
and  fling  away  the  baser  part  of  it." 
These  words,  that  burst  from  Wil- 
liam's better  heart,  knocked  at  his 
brother's  you  may  be  sure.  He  came 
to  William,  '"  I  believe  you,"  said  he; 
"  I  trust  you,  I  thank  you."  Then 
he  held  out  his  hand ;  but  nature 
would  have  more  than  that,  in  a  mo- 
ment his  arm  was  round  his  brother's 
neck,  where  it  h:Hl  not  been  this  many 
a  year  :  he  withdrew  it  as  quickly, 
half  ashamed  ;  ami  Anne  Fielding's 
two  soiTs  grasped  one  another's  hands, 
and  holding  hands  turned  away  their 
heads  and  tried  to  hide  their  eyes. 


They  are  stronger  than  bond,  deed,  * 
or  indenture,  these  fleshly  compa'-ts 
written  by  moist  eyes,  stamped  by  the 
gripe  of  eloquent  hands,  in  those 
moments  full  of  soul  when -men's 
hearts  beat  from  their  bosoms  to  their 
fingers'  ends. 

Isaac  Levi  came  to  the  brothers, 
and  said  to  William,  "  Yes,  I  will 
now,"  and  then  he  went  slowly  and 
thoughtfully  away  to  his  own  house. 

"  And  now,"  faltered  Geoi'ge,  "  I 
feel  strong  enough  to  go,  and  I  '11 
go." 

He  looked  xound  at  all  the  familiar 
objects  he  was  leaving,  as  if  to  bid 
them  farewell  ;  and  last,  whilst  every 
eye  watched  his  movements,  he  walked 
sfowly  up  to  his  grandfather's  chair. 

"  Grandfather,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
going  a  long  journey,  and  mayhap 
shall  never  see  you  again ;  speak 
a  word  to  me  before  I  go." 

The  impassive  old  man  took  no  no- 
tice, so  Susan  came  to  him.  "  Grand- 
father, speak  to  George ;  poor  George 
is  going  into  a  far  country." 

When  she  had  repeated  this  in  his 
ear,  their  graml father  looked  up  for  a 
moment,  —  "George,  fetch  me  some 
snuff"  from  where  you  're  going." 

A  spasm  crossed  George's  face  ;  he 
was  not  to  have  a  word  of  good  omen 
from  the  aged  man. 

"  Friends,"  said  he,  looking  ap- 
pealingly  to  all  the  rest,  Meadows  in- 
cluded, "  I  wanted  him  to  say  God 
bless  you,  but  snuff"  is  all  his  thouglit 
now.  Well,  old  man,  George  won't 
forget  your  last  word,  such  as  't  is." 

In  a  hutch  near  the  corner  of  the 
house  was  William's  pointer  Carlo. 
Carlo,  observing  by  the  general  move- 
ment that  there  was  something  on  foot, 
had  the  curiosity  to  come  out  to  the 
end  of  the  chain,  and,  as  he  stood  there 
giving  every  now  and  then  a  little  un- 
certain wair  of  his  tail,  Georire  took 
notice  of  him  and  came  to  him  and 
patted  his  head. 

"  Good  by,  Carlo,"  faltered  George  ; 
"  poor  Carlo,  you  and  I  shall  never  go 
after  the  partridges  again,  Carlo  :  the 
dog  shows  more  understanding  than 


Vl 


r. 


'"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO 

the  Christian  ;  by,  Carlo."  Then  he 
looked  wistfully  at  William's  dog,  but 
he  said  nothing  more. 

William  watehed  every  look  of 
George,  but  he  said  nothing  at 'the 
time. 

"  Good  by,  little  village  church, 
where  I  wont  to  church,  man  and  boy  ; 
good  by,  churchyard  where  my  mother 
lies  ;  there  will  lie  noclmrch  bells,  Su- 
san, where  I  am  going;  no  Sunday  bells 
to  romiud  me  of  my  soul  and  home." 

These  words,  wliich  he  spoke  with 
great  difficulty  were  hardly  out  of 
young  Fielding's  mouth  when  a  very 
painful  circumstance  occurred  ;  one 
of  those  things  that  seem  the  contri- 
vance of  some  malignant  spirit.  The 
clunch  bells  in  a  moment  struck  up 
their  very  merriest  peal ! 

George  Fielding  started,  he  turned 
pale  and  his  lips  trembled.  "  Are 
they  mocking  me  ?  "  he  cried.  *'  Do 
they  take  a  thought  what  I  am  going 
through  this  moment,  the  hard- 
hearted —  " 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  cried  William  ; 
"  don't  think  it,  George :  1  know 
what  't  is,  —  I  '11  tell  ye." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Well,  it  is  —  well,  George,  it  is 
Tom  Clarke  and  P^sther  Borgherst 
married  to-day ;  only  they  could  n't 
liave  the  rintrers  till  the  afternoon." 

•'  Why,  Will,  they  have  only  kept 
conipany  a  year,  and  Susan  and  I 
have  kept  company  three  years  ;  and 
Tom  and  Esther  are  married  to-day ; 
and  what  are  George  and  Susan  doing 
to-day  ?  God  help  me  !  O,  God  help 
me  1  "  AVIiat  shall.  I  do  ?  what  shall  I 
do  ?  "  And  the  stout  heart  gave  way, 
and  George  Fielding  covered  his  face 
Avith  his  hands,  and  burst  out  sobbing 
and  crying. 

Susan  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck :  "  O  George,  my  pride  is  all 
gone  ;  don't  go,  don't  think  to  go  ; 
have  ])ity  on  vis  both,  and  don't  go," 
And  she  clung  to  him,  —  her  boimet 
fallen  otfj  her  hair  dishevelled,  —  and 
they  sobbed  and  wept  in  one  another's 
arms. 

Meadows  writhed  with  the  jealous 


LATE  TO  MEi^."    '    .-  31 - 

anguish  this  sad  sight  gftve  iirni,  and 
at  that  moment  he  could  have  cursed 
the  whole  creation.  He  tried  to  fly, 
but  he  was  rooted  to  the  spot.  He 
leaned,  sick  as  death,  against  the  pal- 
ings. 

George  and  Susan  cried  together, 
and  then  they  wiped  one  another's 
eyes  like  simple  country  folk,  with  one 
pocket-handkerchief;  and  then  they 
kissed  one  another  in  turn,  and  made 
each  other's  tears  flow  fast  again  ;  and 
again  wiped  one  another's  eyes  with 
one  handkerchief. 

Meadows  griped  the  palings  con- 
vulsively, —  hell  was  in  his  heart. 

"  Poor  souls,  God  help  them ! "  said 
William  to  himself,  in  his  purified 
heart. 

The  silence  their  sorrow  caused  all 
around  was  suddenly  invaded  b}-^  a 
voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  anoth- 
er world,  —  it  was  Grandfather  Field- 
ing. "  The  autumn  sun  is  not  so 
waarm  as  she  used  to  be  ! " 

Yes,  there  was  the  whole  map  of 
humanity  on  that  little  spot  in  the 
county  of  Berks.  The  middle-aged 
man,  a  schemer,  watching  the  success 
of  his  able  scheme,  and  stunned  and 
wounded  by  its  recoil.  And  old  age, 
callous  to  noble  pain,  all  alive  to  dis- 
comfort, yet  man  to  the  last,  — blaming 
any  one  but  Number  One,  cackling 
against  heavenly  bodies,  accusing  the 
sun  and  the  kitchen-fire  of  frigidity, — 
not  his  own  empty  veins !  And  the 
two  poor  young  things  sobbing  as  if 
their  heart  would  break  over  their  first 
great  earthly  sorrow. 

George  was  the  first  to  recover  him- 
self. "  Shame  upon  me !  "  he  cried  ; 
he  drew  Susan  to  his  bosom,  and 
pressed  a  long,  burning  kiss  upon  her 
brow. 

And  now  all  felt  the  wrench  was 
coming.  George,  with  a  wild,  half- 
terrified  look,  signalled  William  to 
come   to   him. 

"  Help  me.  Will !  you  see  I  have  no 
more  manhood  than  a  girl." 

Susan  instinctively  trembled.  George 
once  more  pressed  his  lips  to  her,  as  if 
they  would  grow  there.    William  look 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


her  hand.  She  trembled  more  and 
more. 

"  Tiike  my  hand  ;  take  your  broth- 
er's hand,  my  i)oor  hiss,"  said  he. 

She  trembled  violently  ;  and  then 
Georj^e  gave  a  cry  tliat  t*eemed  to  tear 
his  heart,  and  darted  from  theni  in  a 
moment. 

Poor  Susan  uttered  more  than  one 
dcspairiii<^  scream,  and  stretched  out 
botii  her  hands  for  Gcor<^e.  He  did 
not  see  her,  for  he  dared  not  look  back. 

"  Bob,  loose  the  dog,"  muttered 
William,  hastily,  in  a  broken  voice. 

The  dog  was  loosed,  and  ran  after 
George,  who,  he  tliought,  was  only 
going  for  a  walk.  Susan  was  sinking, 
pale  and  helpless,  upon  her  brother's 
bosom. 

"Pray,  sister," said  gentle  William, 
—  "  pray,  sister,  as  I  must." 

A  faint  shiver  was  all  the  answer; 
her  senses  had  almost  left  her. 

When  George  was  a  little  way 
up  the  hill,  something  ran  suddenly 
against  his  legs,  —  he  started,  —  it 
was  Carlo.  He  turned,  and  lifted  up 
his  hands  to  Heaven  ;  and  William 
could  see  that  George  was  blessing 
him  for  this.  Carlo  was  more  than  a 
dog  to  poor  George  at  that  cruel  mo- 
ment. Soon  after  that,  George  and 
Carlo  reached  the  crown  of  the  hill. 
George's  figure  stood  alone  a  moment 
between  them  and  the  sky.  He  was 
seen  to  take  iiis  hat  off,  and  raise  his 
hands  once  more  to  Heaven,  whilst 
he  looked  down  upon  all  he  loved  and 
left ;  and  then  he  turned  his  sorrowful 
f;ice  again  towards  that  distant  land, 
and  they  saw  him  no  more  ! 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  The  world  is  full  of  trouble." 
While  we  are  young  we  do  not  see 
how  true  this  ancient  homely  saying  is. 
That  wonderful  dramatic;  prologue, 
the  first  chapter  of  Job,  is  but  a  great 
condensation  of  the  sorrows  that  (n\\ 
like  hail  upon  many  a  mortal  house. 
Job's  black  day,  like  the  day  of  the 


poetic  prophets,  —  the  true  snrri  vnfe$ 
of  the  ancient  world,  —  is  a  type  of  a 
year, — a  hitter  hiunan  year.  It  is 
terrible  bow  quickly  a  human  land- 
sca|»e  all  gihled  meadow,  silver  river, 
and  blue  sky,  can  cloud  and  darken. 

George  Fielding  had  compared  him- 
self this  very  day  to  an  oak-tiee  : 
"  even  so  am  I  rooted  to  my  native 
soil."  His  fate  accepted  his  simile. 
The  oak  of  centuries  yields  to  an  im- 
palpable antagonist,  whose  very  name 
stands  in  jiroverbs  for  weakness  and 
insignificance.  This  thin  light  trifle 
rendered  impetuous  by  motion  buffets 
the  king  of  the  forest,  tears  his  roots  ^ 
with  fury  out  of  the  earth,  and  lays 
his  towering  head  in  the  dust ;  and 
even  so  circumstances,  none  of  them 
singly  irresistible,  converging  to  one 
point,  buffeted  sore  another  oak  pride 
of  our  fields,  and,  for  aught  I  know, 
of  our  whole  island,  —  an  honest  Eng- 
lish yeoman,  —  and  tore  him  from  his 
farm,  from  his  house  hard  by  his 
mother's  grave,  from  the  joy  of  his 
heart,  his  Susan,  and  sent  him  who 
had  never  travelled  a  hundred  miles 
in  his  life  across  a  world  of  waters  to 
keep  sheep  at  the  Antipodes.  A  be- 
reaved and  desolate  heart  went  with 
Farmer  Dodd  in  the  gig  to  Newbor- 
ough ;  sad,  desolate,  and  stricken 
hearts  remained  behind.  When  two 
loving  hearts  are  torn  bleeding  asun- 
der, it  is  a  shade  better  to  be  the  one  that 
is  driven  away  into  action  than  the 
bereaved  twin  that  petrifies  at  home. 

The  bustle,  the  occupation,  the  act- 
ive annoyances,  are  some  sort  of  bit- 
ter distraction  to  the  unfathomable 
grief,  —  it  is  one  little  shade  worse  to 
lie  solitary  and  motionless  in  the  old 
scenes  from  which  the  sunlight  is  now 
fled. 

It  needed  but  a  look  at  Susan  Mer- 
ton  as  she  sat  moaning  and  quivering 
from  head  to  foot  in  George's  kitchen, 
to  see  that  she  was  in  no  condition  to 
walk  back  to  Grassmere  Farm  to- 
night. 

So  as  she  refused  —  almost  violent- 
ly refused  — to  stay  at  "  The  Grove," 
William  harnessed  one  of  the  farm- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


33 


horses  to  a  cart  and  took  her  home 
round  by  the  road. 

"  It  is  six  miles  that  way  'stead  of 
three,  but  then  we  shu'  n't  jolt  her  go- 
m<x  that  way,"  thought  William. 

He  walked  by  the  side  of  the  cart  in 
silence. 

She  never  spoke  but  once  all  the 
journey,  and  that  was  about  half-way 
to  complain  in  a  sort  of  hopeless,  piti- 
ful tone  that  she  was  cold :  it  was  a 
burning  afternoon. 

William  took  off  his  coat,  and 
began  to  tie  it  round  her  by  means  of 
the  sleeves  ;  Susan  made  a  little  silent, 
peevish,  and  not  very  rational  resist- 
ance; William  tied  it  round  her  by 
brotherly  force. 

They  reached  her  home ;  when  she 
got  out  of  the  cart  her  eye  was  fixed, 
her  cheek  white,  she  seemed  like  one 
in  a  dream. 

She  went  into  the  house  without 
speaking  or  looking  at  William. 
William  was  sorry  she  did  not  speak 
to  him;  however,  he  stood  disconso- 
lately by  the  cart,  asking  himself  what 
he  could  do  next  for  her  and  George  ; 
presently  he  heard  a  slight  rustle,  and 
it  was  Susan  coming  back  along  the 
passage  :  "  She  has  left  something  in 
the  cart,"  thought  he,  and  he  began 
to  look  in  the  straw. 

She  came  like  one  still  in  a  dream, 
and  put  her  hand  out  to  William,  and 
it  appeared  that  was  what  she  had 
come  back  for. 

William  took  her  hand  and  pressed 
it  to  his  bosom  a  moment ;  at  this 
Susan  gave  an  hysterical  sob  or  two, 
and  crept  away  again  to  her  own 
room. 

What  she  suffered  in  that  room  the 
first  month  after  George's  departure 
I  could  detail  perhaps  as  well  as  any 
man  living;  but  I  will  not;  there  is  a 
degree  of  anguish  one  shrinks  from 
intruding  upon  too  familiarly  in  per- 
son ;  and  even  on  paper  the  micro- 
sco]>e  should  spare  sometimes  these 
beatings  of  the  bared  heart.  It  will 
be  enough  if  I  indicate  by  and  by 
her  state,  after  time  and  religion  and 
good  habits  had  begun  to  struggle, 
2* 


sometimes  gaining,  sometimes  losing, 
against  the  tide  of  sorrow.  For  the 
present  let  us  draw  gently  back  and 
leave  her,  for  she  is  bowed  to  the 
earth,  —  fallen  on  lier  knees,  her  head 
buried  in  the  curtains  of  her  bed ; 
dark,  faint,  and  leaden,  on  the  bor- 
ders of  despair,  —  a  word  often  light- 
ly used  through  ignorance.  Heaven 
keep  us  all  from  a  single  hour  here  or 
hereafter  of  the  thing  the  word  stands 
for ;  and  Heaven  comfort  all  true  and 
loving  hearts  that  read  me,  when  their 
turn  shall  come  to  drain  the  bitter 
cup  like  Susan  Merton. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  moment  George  Fielding  was 
out  of  sight,  Mr.  Meadows  went  to 
the  public-house,  flung  himself  on  hi& 
powerful  black  mare,  and  rode  home- 
wards without  a  word.  One  strong 
passion  after  another  swept  across  his 
troubled  mind.  He  burned  with  love, 
he  was  sick  with  jealousy,  cold  with 
despondency,  and  for  the  first  time 
smarted  with  remorse.  George  Field- 
ing was  gone,  gone  of  his  own  accord  ; 
but  like  the  fi}'ing  Parthian  he  had 
shot  his  keenest  arrow  in  the  moment 
of  defeat.  ^ 

"  What  the  better  am  I  ?  "    thus     . 
ran   this   man's  thoughts.     "  I  have 
opened    my    own    eyes,   and    Susan 
seems  farther  from  me  than  ever  now^,-.^ 

—  my  heart  is  like  a  lump  of  lead  here,    ^ 

—  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born  !  —  so 
much  for  scheming,  —  I  would  have 
given  a  thousand  pounds  for  this,  and 
now  I  'd  give  double  to  be  as  I  was 
before ;  I  had  honest  hopes  then  ;  now 
where  are  they  ?  How  lucky  it  seemed 
all  to  go,  too.  Ah  !  that  is  it,  '  May 
all  your  good  luck  turn  to  worm- 
wood !  '  that  was  his  word,  his  very  ^ 
word,  and  my  good  luck  is  worm- _>^^ 
wood ;  so  much  for  lifting  a  hand 
asrainst  gray  hairs,  Jew  or  Gentile. 
Why  did  the  old  heathen  provoke  me 
then  1  I  'd  as  soon  die  as  live  this 
day.     That 's  right,  start  at  a  handful 

C 


34 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.»' 


of  straw;  lie  down  in  it  one  minute 
and  tremble  at  the  sight  ofit  the  next, 
ye  idiot.  O  Susan !  Susan !  Why 
do  I  think  of  her?  why  do  I  think  of 
her  1  She  loves  that  man  with  every 
fibre  of  her  body.  How  she  clunj;  to 
him  !  how  she  <:rew  to  him  !  And  I 
stood  tliere  and  looked  on  it,  and  did 
not  kill  them  both.  Seen  it!  I  see  it 
now,  it  is  burnt  into  my  eyes  and  my 
heart  forever,  I  am  in  Hell !  —  I  am  in 
Hi'Il !  —  Hold  up,  you  blundering 
fool ;  has  the  Devil  got  into  you  too  ? 
PerditiDU  seize  him  !  May  he  die  and 
rot  before  the  year 's  out,  ten  thousand 
miles  from  home !  may  his  ship  sink 
to  the  bottom  of  the  —  What  right 
have  I  to  curse  the  man,  as  well  as 
drive  him  across  sea?  Curse  your- 
self, John  Meadows.  They  are  true 
lovers,  and  I  have  parted  them,  and 
looked  on  and  seen  their  tears.  Heav- 
en pity  them  and  forgive  me.  So  he 
knew  of  his  brother's  love  for  her  af- 
ter all.  AVhy  did  n't  he  speak  to  me 
I  wonder,  as  well  as  to  Will  Fielding  ? 
The  old  Jew  warned  him  against  me, 
I' 11  swear.  Why?  why,  hecauseyou 
are  a  respectable  man,  John  Meadows, 
and  he  thought  a  hint  was  enough  to 
a,<nan  of  character.  '  I  do  suppose 
I',jim  safe  from  villany  here,'  says 
he.  That  lad  spared  me,  he  could 
have  given  me  a  red  face  before  them 
all  ;  now  if  there  are  angels  that  float 
in  the  air,  and  see  what  passes  amongst 
us  sinners,  how  must  Jo!m  Meadows 
have  looked  beside  George  Fielding 
that  moment  ?  This  love  will  sink 
my  soul  !  I  can't  breathe  between 
tliese  hedges,  my  temples  are  bursting  ! 
Oh  !  you  want  to  gallop,  do  you  ?  gal- 
lop then,  and  faster  than  you  ever  did 
since  you  were  foaled — confound 
yc!  "  With  this  he  spurred  his  mare 
furiously  up  the  bank,  and  went 
crushing  through  the  dead  hedge  that 
surmounted  it ;  he  struck  his  hat  at 
the  same  moment  fiercely  from  his 
head  (it  was  fast  by  a  blaek  ribbon  to 
his  button-hole);  and  as  they  lighted 
by  a  descent  of  some  two  feet  on  the 
edge  of  a  grass-field  he  again  drove 
his  spurs  into  his  great  fiery  mare,  all 


vein  and  bone.  Black  Kacliael  snort- 
ed with  amazement  at  the  spur,  and 
with  warlike  delight  at  finding  grass 
beneath  her  feet  and  free  air  whistling 
round  her  ears  ;  she  gave  one  gigan- 
tic bound  like  a  buck  with  arcliing 
back  and  all  four  legs  in  the  air  at 
once  (it  would  have  unseated  many  a 
rider,  but  never  moved  the  iron  Mead- 
ows), and  with  dilating  nostril  and 
ears  laid  back  she  hurled  herself  across 
country  like  a  stone  from  a  sling. 

Meadows's  house  was  about  four 
miles  and  a  half  distant  as  the  crow 
flics,  and  he  went  home  to-day  as  the 
crow  flies,  only  faster.  None  would 
have  known  the  staid,  respectable 
Meadows  in  this  figure  that  came 
flying  over  hedge  and  ditch  and  brook, 
his  hat  dangling  and  leaping  like  mad 
behind  him,  his  hand  now  and  then 
clutching  his  breast,  his  heart  tossed 
like  a  boat  among  the  breakers,  his  lips 
white,  his  teeth  clenched,  and  his  eyes 
blazing  !  The  mare  took  everything 
in  her  stride,  but  at  last  they  came 
somewhat  suddenly  on  an  enormous 
high  stiff  fence ;  to  clear  it  was  impos- 
sible ;  by  this  time  man  and  beast  were 
equally  reckless  ;  they  went  straight 
into  it  and  through  it  as  a  bullet  goes 
through  a  pane  of  glass  :  and  on  again 
over  brook  and  fence,  ploughed  field 
and  meadow,  till  Meadows  found  him- 
self, he  scarce  knew  how,  at  his  own 
door.  His  old  deaf  servant  came  out 
from  the  stable-yard,  and  gazed  in  as- 
tonishment at  the  mare,  Avhose  flank 
panted,  whose  tail  quivered,  whose 
back  looked  as  if  she  had  been  in  the 
river,  while  her  belly  was  stained  with 
half  a  dozen  different  kinds  of  soil,  and 
her  rider's  face  streamed  with  blood 
from  a  dozen  scratches  he  had  never 
felt. 

Meadows  flung  himself  from  the 
saddle,  and  ran  up  to  his  own  room  ; 
he  dashed  his  face  and  his  burning 
hands  into  water  :  this  seemed  to  do 
him  a  little  good.  He  came  down 
stairs;  he  lighted  a  pipe  (we  are  the 
children  of  habit) ;  he  sat  with  his 
eyebrows  painfully  bent ;  people  called 
on  him,  he  fiercely  refused  to  see  them. 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND.'* 


35 


For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
hirned  his  back  on  business ;  he  sat 
for  hours    by  the  firephice  ;    a  tierce 

Ual  struggle  \vi 
fro. 

Evening  came,  still  he  sat  collapsed 
by  the  fireplace.  From  his  window, 
among  other  objects,  two  dwellings 
were  visible ;  one,  distant  four  miles, 
was  a  whitewashed  cottage,  tiled  in- 
stead of  thatched,  adorned  with  creep- 
ers and  roses  and  very  clean,  but  in 
other  respects  little  superior  to  labor- 
ers' cottages. 

The  other,  distant  six  long  miles, 
was  the  Grassmere  farm-house,  where 
the  Mertons  lived  ;  the  windows 
seemed  burnished  gold  this  even- 
ing. 

In  the  small  cottage  lived  a  plain 
old  woman,  —  a  Methodist ;  she  was 
Meadows's  mother. 

She  did  not  admire  worldly  people, 
still  less  envied  them. 

He  was  too  good  a  churchman  and 
man  of  business  to  permit  conven- 
tick's  or  psalm-singing  at  odd  hours 
in  his  house.  So  she  jireferrcd  living 
in  her  own,  which  moreover  was  her 
own,  —  her  very  own. 

The  old  woman  never  spoke  of  her 
son,  and  checked  all  complaints  of 
him,  and  snubbed  all  experimental 
eulogies  of  him. 

Meadows  never  spoke  of  his  mother ; 
paid  her  a  small  allowance  Avith  the 
regularity  and  affectionate  grace  of 
clock-work  ;  never  asked  her  if  she 
didn't  want  any  more,— would  not 
have  refused  her  if  she  had  asked  for 
double. 

This  evening  whilst  the  sun  was 
shining  with  all  his  evening  glory  on 
Susan  Merton's  house,  Meadows  went 
slowly  to  his  window  and  pulled  down 
the  blind,  and,  drawing  his  breath 
hard,  shut  the  loved  prospect  out. 

He  then  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
table,  and  he  said,  "  I  swear,  by  the 
holy  bread  and  wine  I  took  last  month, 
that  I  will  not  put  myself  in  the  way 
of  this  strong  temptation.  I  swear  I 
will  go  no  more  to  Grassmere  Farm, 
never  so  long  as  I  love  Susan."     He 


added,  faintly :  "  Unless  they  send 
for  me  ;  and  they  won't  do  that,  and 
I  won't  go  of  my  own  accord,  I  swear 
it.  I  have  swoin  it,  however,  and  I 
swear  it  again,  unless  they  send  for 
me ! " 

Then  he  sat  by  the  fire  with  his 
head  in  his  hands,  —  a  posture  he 
never  was  seen  in  before;  next  he 
wrote  a  note,  and  sent  it  hastily  with 
a  horse  and  cart  to  that  small  white- 
washed cottage. 

Old  Mrs.  Meadows  sat  in  her  door- 
way reading  a  theological  work  called 
"  Believers'  Buttons."  She  took  the 
note,  looked  at  it.  "  Why,  this  is 
from  John,  I  think ;  what  can  he 
have  to  say  to  me  1  "  She  put  on 
her  spectacles  again,  which  she  had 
taken  off  on  the  messenger  first  ac- 
costing her,  and  dehberately  opened, 
smoothed,  and  read  the  note  :  it  ran 
thus :  — 

"  Mother,  I  am  lonely,  come  over 
and  stay  awhile  with  me,  if  you 
please. 

"  Your  dutiful  son, 

"  John  Meadows." 

"  Here,  Hannah,"  cried  the  old 
woman  to  a  neighbor's  daughter  that 
was  nearly  always  with  her. 

Hannah,  a  comely  girl  of  four- 
teen, came  running  in. 

"  Here  's  John  wants  me  to  go  over 
to  his  house  ;  get  me  the  pen  and  ink, 
girl,  out  of  the  cupboard,  and  I  '11 
write  him  a  word  or  two  any  Avay. 
Is  there  anything  amiss  ? "  said  she, 
quickly,  to  the  man. 

"  He  came  in  Avith  the  black  mare 
all  in  a  lather,  just  after  dinner,  and 
he  lias  n't  spoke  to  a  soul  since,  that 's 
all  I  knoAV,  missus  :  I  think  some- 
thing has  put  him  out,  and  he  is  n't 
soon  put  out,  you  know,  he  is  n't." 

Hannah  left  the  room,  after  placing 
the  paper  as  she  Avas  bid. 

"  You  Avill  all  be  put  out  that  trust 
to  an  arm  of  fiesh,  all  of  ye,  master 
or  man,  Dick  Messenger,"  said  the 
disciple  of  John  Wesley,  somewhat 
grimly;   "ay,    and    be    put    out  of 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


the  kiriixdom  of  heaven  too,  if  ye  don't 
take  heed." 

"  Is  tliat  the  news  I  'm  to  take  hack 
to  Farnborou;^'h,  missus  ?  "  said  Mes- 
sen;^er,  with  quiet  rustic  irony. 

"  No  ;  I  '11  write  to  liirn." 

The  old  woman  wrote  a  few  lines 
reminding  Meadows  that  the  pursuit 
of  earthly  ohjeets  could  never  brinj^ 
any  steady  comfort,  and  telling  him 
that  she  should  be  lost  in  his  <,''rcat 
house,  —  that  it  would  seem  (juite 
stran<j^e  to  lier  to  j^o  into  the  town  af- 
ter so  many  years'  quiet,  —  hut  that, 
if  he  was  minded  to  come  out  and  see 
her,  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him, 
and  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  give 
him  her  advice,  if  he  was  in  a  better 
frame  for  listening  to  it  than  last  time 
she  offered  it  to  him,  and  that  was 
two  years  come  Martinmas. 

Then  the  old  woman  paused,  — 
next  stie  reflected, — and  afterwards 
dried  her  untinishcd  letter.  And  as 
she  began  slowly  to  fold  it  up  and  put 
it  in  her  pocket,  "  Hannah,"  cried 
she,  thoughtfully. 

Haunaii  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  dare  say  —  you  may  fetch  —  ray 
cloak  and  bonnet.  Why,  if  the  wencli 
has  n't  got  them  on  her  arm.  What, 
you  made  up  your  mind  that  I  should 
go,  then  ?  " 

"  That  I  did,"  replied  Hannah. 
*'  Your  warm  shawl  is  in  the  cart, 
Mrs.  Meadows." 

"  0,  you  did,  did  you.  Young  folks 
are  apt  to  be  sure  and  certain,  —  I 
was  in  two  minds  about  it,  so  I  don't 
see  how  the  cliild  could  be  sure," 
said  she,  dividing  her  remark  be- 
tween vacancy  and  the  person  ad- 
dressed ;  a  grammatical  privilege  of 
old  aire. 

"  O,  but  /  was  sure  for  that  mat- 
ter," replied  Hamiah,  firmly. 

"  And  what  made  the  little  wench  so 
sure,  I  wonder?  "  said  the  old  woman, 
row  in  her  black  bonnet  and  scarlet 
cloak. 

"  Why  la !  "  says  Hannah,  "  be- 
cause it's  your  son,  ma'am,  —  and 
you  're  his  mother,  Dame  Mead- 
ows I" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JoHx  Meadows  had  always  been 
an  active  man,  but  now  he  was  inde- 
fatigable. He  was  up  at  five  every 
morning,  and  seemed  ubi(|uitous ; 
added  a  gray  gelding  to  his  black 
mare,  and  rode  them  both  nearly  off 
their  legs.  He  surveyed  land  in  half 
a  dozen  counties,  —  he  speculated  in 
grain  in  half  a  dozen  markets,  and 
did  business  in  shares.  His  plan  in 
dealing  with  this  ticklish  speculation 
was  simple :  he  listened  to  nothing 
anybody  said,  examined  the  venture 
himself,  and,  if  it  had  a  sound  basis, 
bought  when  the  herd  were  selling 
and  sold  wherever  the  herd  were  buy- 
ing. Hence,  he  bought  cheap  and 
sold  dear. 

He  also  lent  money,  and  contrived 
to  solve  the  usurer's  problem,  —  per- 
fect security  and  huge  interest. 

He  arrived  at  this  by  his  own  sa- 
gacity and  the  stupidity  of  man- 
kind. 

Mankind  are  not  wanting  in  intelli- 
gence ;  but,  as  a  body,  they  have  one  ! 
intellectual  defect,  —  they  are  muddle- 
heads. 

Now  these  muddle- heads  have 
agreed  to  say  that  land  is  in  all  cases 
five  times  a  surer  security  for  money 
lent  than  movables  are.  Whereas 
the  fact  is  that  sometimes  it  is  and 
sometimes  it  is  not.  Owing  to  the 
above  delusion  the  proprietor  of  land 
can  always  borrow  money  at  four  per 
cent,  and  other  proprietors  are  often 
driven  to  give  ten,  —  twenty,  — 
thirty. 

So  John  Meadows  lent  mighty  lit- 
tle upon  land,  but  much  upon  oat- 
ricks,  wagons,  advantageous  leases, 
and  such  things,  solid  as  land  and 
more  easily  convertible  into  cash. 

Thus  without  risk  he  got  his  twen- 
ty per  cent.  Not  that  he  ap))eared  in 
these  transaction^,  —  he  had  too  many 
good  irons  in  the  tire  to  let  iiimself  be 
called  an  usurer. 

He  worked  this  business  as  three 
thousand  respecta!)le  men  are  work- 
ing  it   in    this   nation.      He   had   a 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


37 


human  money-baf^,  whose  strings  he 
went  behind  a  s<.Tecn  and  pulled. 

The  human  money-bag  of  Meadows 
was  Peter  Crawley. 

This  Peter  Crawley,  some  years  be- 
fore our  tale,  lay  crushed  beneath  a 
barrowful  of  debts,  —  many  of  them 
,  to  publieans.  In  him  others  saw  a 
cunning  fool  and  a  sot,  —  Meadows 
an  unscrupulous  tool :  Meadows  want- 
ed a  tool,  and  knew  the  cheapest  way 
to  get  tlie  thing  was  to  buy  it,  so  he 
bought  up  all  Crawley's  debts,  sued 
him,  got  judgments  out  against  him, 
and,  raising  the  axe  of  the  law  over 
Peter's  head  with  his  right  hand,  of- 
fered him  the  left  hand  of  fellowship 
with  his  left;  down  on  his  knees  went 
Crawley,  and  resigned  his  existence 
to  this  great  man. 

Human  creatures,  whose  mission  it 
is  to  do  whatever  a  man  secretly  bids 
them,  are  not  entitled  to  long  and  in- 
teresting descriptions. 

Crawley  was  tifry,  wore  a  brown 
wig,  the  only  thing  about  him  that  did 
not  attempt  disguise,  and  slouched 
in  a  brown  coat  and  a  shirt  peppered 
with  snuff. 

In  this  life  he  was  an  infinitesimal 
attorney :  previously,  unless  Pythag- 
oras was  a  goose,  he  had  been  a  pole- 
cat. 

Meadows  was  ambidexter.  The 
two  hands  he  gathered  coin  with 
were  Meadows  and  Crawley.  The 
first,  his  honest,  hard-working  hand  ; 
the  second,  his  three-fingered  Jack, 
his  prestidigital  hand  :  with  both  he 
now  worked  harder  than  ever.  He 
huriied  from  business  to  business,  — 
could  not  wait  to  chat,  or  drink  a 
glass  of  ale  after  it ;  it  was  all  work  ! 
work  !  work  !  —  money  !  money  ! 
money!  with  John  Meadows,  and 
everything  he  touched  turned  to  gold 
in  his  hands  ;  yet,  for  all  this  burning 
activity,  the  man's  heart  had  never 
♦been  so  little  in  business.  His  ac- 
tivity wns  the  struggle  of  a  sensible 
strong  mind  to  fight  against  its  one 
weakness. 

"  Cedit  amor  rebus  ;  res  age  tutus 
eris,"   is  a  very   wise    saying  ;    and 


Meadows,  by  his  own  observation 
and  instinct,  sought  the  best  antidote 
for  love. 

But  the  Latins  had  another  true 
saying,  that  "  nobody  is  wise  at  all 
hours." 

After  his  day  of  toil  and  success, 
he  used  to  be  guilty  of  a  sad  incon- 
sistency ;  he  shut  himself  up  at  home 
for  two  hours,  and  smoked  his  pipe, 
and  ran  his  eye  over  the  newspa- 
per, but  his  mind  over  Susan  Mer- 
ton. 

Worse  than  this,  in  his  frequent 
rides  he  used  to  go  a  mile  or  two  out 
of  his  way  to  pass  Grassmere  farm- 
house ;  and,  however  fast  he  rode  the 
rest  of  his  journey,  he  always  let  his 
nag  walk  by  the  farm-house,  and  his 
eye  brightened  with  hope  as  he  ap- 
proached it,  and  his  heart  sank  as  he 
passed  it  Avithout  seeing  Susan. 

He  now  bitterly  regretted  the  vow 
he  had  made  never  to  visit  the  Mer- 
tons  again  unless  they  sent  for  him, 

"  They  have  forgotten  me  alto- 
gether," said  he,  bitterly.  "  Well,  the 
best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  forget 
them." 

Now,  Susan  had  forgotten  him  ; 
she  was  absorbed  in  her  own  grief; 
but  Merton  was  laboring  under  a  fit 
of  rheumatism,  •  and  this  was  the 
reason  why  Meadows  and  he  did  not 
meet.  In  fact,  Farmer  Merton  often 
said  to  his  daughter,  "  John  Mead- 
ows has  not  been  to  see  us  a  long 
while." 

"  Has  n't  he,  father  1  "  was  Su- 
san's languid  and  careless  reply. 

One  Sunday,  Meadows,  weakened 
by  his  inner  struggle,  could  not  help 
going  to  Grassmere  church.  At 
least  he  would  see  her  face.  He  had 
seated  himself  where  he  could  see 
her.  She  took  her  old  place  by  the 
pillar ;  nobody  was  near  her.  The 
light  fiom  a  side  window  streamed 
full  upon  her  :  she  was  pale,  and  the 
languor  of  sorrow  was  upon  every 
part  of  her  face,  but  she  was  lovely 
as  ever. 

Meadows  watched  her,  and  noticed 
that  more   than  once,   without    any 


38 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


visible  reason,  licr  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  but  she  shed  none. 

He  saw  bow  hard  she  tried  to  {^ive 
her  whole  soul  to  the  services  of  the 
church  and  to  the  word  of  the  preacli- 
cr ;  he  saw  her  succeed  for  a  few 
minutes  at  a  time,  and  then,  with  a 
lover's  keen  eye,  he  saw  her  heart 
fly  away  in  a  moment  from  prayer 
and  praise  and  consolation,  and  fol- 
low and  overtake  the  ship  that  was 
carryitig  her  Georj^e  farther  and  far- 
ther away  from  her  across  the  sea ; 
and  then  her  lips  quivered  with  earth- 
ly sorrow  even  as  she  repeated  words 
that  came  from  Heaven,  and  tried  to 
bind  to  her  heavy  heart  the  prayers 
for  succor  in  every  mortal  ill,  the 
promises  of  help  in  every  mortal 
woe,  with  which  holy  Church  and 
holier  writ  comfort  her  and  all  the 
pure  of  heart  in  every  age. 

Then  Meadows,  who  up  to  this  mo- 
ment had  been  pitying  liimsclf,  had  a 
better  thought  and  pitied  Susan.  He 
even  went  so  far  as  to  feel  that  he 
ougiit  to  pity  George,  but  he  did  not 
do  it,  he  could  not,  he  envied  him  too 
much;  but  he  pitied  Susan,  and  he 
longed  to  say  something  kind  and 
friendly  to  her,  even  though  there 
sl)ould  not  be  a  word  or  a  look  of  love 
in  it. 

Susan  went  out  by  one  of  the 
church  doors,  Meadows  by  another, 
intending  to  meet  her  casually  upon 
the  road  home.  Susan  saw  his  inten- 
tion, and  took  another  path,  so  that 
he  could  not  come  up  with  her  with- 
out following  her. 

Meadows  turned  upon  his  heel  and 
went  home  with  his  heart  full  of  bit- 
terness. 

"  She  hates  the  sight  of  me,"  was 
his  interpretation. 

Poor  Susan,  she  hated  nobody,  she 
only  hated  to  have  to  speak  to  a 
f-tranger,  and  to  listen  to  a  stranger ; 
and  in  her  present  grief  all  were 
strangers  to  her  except  him  she  had 
lost  and  her  father.  She  avoided 
Meadows,  not  because  he  was  Mead- 
ows, but  because  she  wanted  to  be 
alone. 


Meadows  rode  home  despondently, 
then  he  fell  to  abusing  his  folly,  and 
vowed  he  would  think  of  her  no 
more. 

The  next  day,  finding  himself  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  seated  by  the 
fire  in  a  revery,  he  suddenly  started 
fiercely,  up,  saddled  his  horse,  and 
rode  into  Newborough,  and,  putting 
up  his  horse,  strolled  about  the  streets, 
and  tried  to  amuse  himself  looking  at 
the  shops  before  they  closed. 

Now  it  so  happened,  that,  stopping 
before  a  bookseller's  shop,  he  saw  ad- 
A'ertised  a  work  upon  "  The  Austra- 
lian Colonies." 

"  Confound  Australia !  "  said  Mead- 
ows to  himself,  and  turned  on  his 
heel,  but  the  next  moment,  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  mind,  he  returned  and 
bought  the  book  :  he  did  more,  he 
gave  the  tradesman  an  order  for  every 
approved  work  on  Australia  that  was 
to  be  had. 

The  bookseller,  as  it  happened,  was 
going  up  to  London  next  day,  so  that 
in  the  evening  Meadows  had  some 
dozen  volumes  in  his  house,  and  a 
tolerably  correct  map  of  certain  Aus- 
tralian districts. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Meadows, 
"what  chance  that  chap  has  of  mak- 
ing a  thousand  pounds  out  there." 
This  was  no  doubt  the  beginning  of 
it,  but  it  did  not  end  there.  The  in- 
telligent Meadows  had  not  read  a  hun- 
dred pages  before  he  found  out  what 
a  wonderful  country  this  Australia  is, 
how  worthy  a  money-g-etter's  atten- 
tion or  any  thouuhtful  man's. 

It  seemed  as  if  his  rival  drew  Mead- 
ows after  him  wherever  he  went,  so 
fascinated  was  he  with  this  subject. 
And  now  all  the  evening  he  sucked 
tiie  books  like  a  leech. 

Men  observed  about  this  time  an 
irritable  manner  in  Mr.  Mcadow.s 
which  he  had  never  shown  before,  and 
an  eternal  restlessness;  they  little 
divined  the  cause,  or  dreamed  what  a 
vow  he  had  made,  and  what  it  cost 
him  every  day  to  keep  it  So  strong 
Avas  the  struggle  within  him,  that 
there  were  moments  when  he  feared 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


39 


he  should  po  mad  ;  and  thon  it  was 
that  he  learned  the  value  of  his  moth- 
er's (trescnce  in  the  house. 

There  was  no  explanation  between 
them,  there  could  be  no  sympathy  ; 
had  he  opened  his  heart  to  her,  he 
knew  she  would  have  denounced  his 
love  for  Susan  Merton  as  a  damnable 
crime.  Once  she  invited  his  confi- 
dence :  — 

"  What  ails  you,  John  ?  "  said  the 
old  woman.  "  You  had  better  tell 
me  ;  you  would  feel  easier,  I'm  think- 
ing." 

But  he  turned  it  off  a  little  fretfully, 
and  she  never  returned  to  the  charge  ; 
but,  though  there  could  be  no  direct 
sympathy,  yet  there  was  a  soothing 
influence  in  this  quaint  old  woman's 
presence.  She  moved  quietly  about, 
protecting  his  habits,  not  disturbing 
them ;  she  seemed  very  thoughtful, 
too,  and  cast  many  a  secret  glance  of 
inquiry  and  interest  at  him  when  he 
was  not  looking  at  her. 

This  had  gone  on  some  weeks, 
when  one  afternoon  Meadows,  who 
had  been  silent  as  death  for  a  full 
half-hour,  started  from  his  chair  and 
said  with  sudden  resolution  :  — 

"  Mother,  I  must  leave  this  part  of 
the  country  for  a  while." 

"  That  is  news,  John." 

"  Yes.  I  shall  go  into  the  mining 
district  for  six  months,  or  a  year,  per- 
haps." 

"  Well,  go,  John  !  you  want  a 
change.  I  think  you  can't  do  better 
than  go." 

"  I  will,  and  no  later  than  to-rnor- 
row." 

"  That  ts  sudden." 

"  If  I  was  to  give  myself  time  to 
think,  I  should  never  go  at  all." 

He  went  out  briskly  with  the  ener- 
gy of  this  determination. 

The  same  evening,  about  seven 
o'clock,  as  he  sat  reading  by  the  fire, 
an  unexpected  visitor  was  announced, 
—  Mr.  Merton. 

He  came  cordially  in,  and  scolded 
Meadows  for  never  having  been  to  see 
him. 

"  I  know  you   are   a  busy  man," 


said  the  old  farmer,  "  but  yon  might 
have  given  us  a  look  in  coming  home 
from  market ;  it  is  only  a  mile  out  of 
the  way,  and  you  arc  pretty  well 
mounted  in  a  general  way." 

Then  the  old  man,  a  gossip,  took 
up  one  of  Meadows's  books.  "  Aus- 
tralia !  ah ! "  grunted  Merton,  and 
dropped  it  like  a  hot  potato  :  he  tried 
another  ;  "  why,  this  is  Australia, 
too  :  why,  they  are  all  Australia,  as  I 
am  a  living  sinner."  And  he  looked 
with  a  rueful  curiosity  into  Meadows's 
face. 

Meadows  colored,  but  soon  recov- 
ered his  external  composure. 

"  I  have  friends  there,"  said  he, 
hastily,  "who tell  me  there  are  capital 
investments  in  that  country,  and  they 
say  no  more  than  the  truth." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  do  any  good 
out  there  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  low- 
ering his  voice. 

'J  I  can't  say,"  answered  Meadows, 
dryly. 

"  Tell  us  something  about  that 
country,  John,"  said  Merton;  "and, 
if  you  was  to  ask  me  to  take  a  glass 
of  your  home-brewed  ale,  I  don't 
thing  I  should  gainsay  you." 

The  ale  was  sent  for,  and  over  it 
Meadows,  whose  powers  of  acquisi- 
tion extended  to  facts  as  well  as 
money,  and  who  was  full  of  this  new 
subject,  poured  the  agricultural  con- 
tents of  a  dozen  volumes  into  Mr. 
Merton. 

The  old  farmer  sat  open-mouthed, 
transfixed  with  interest,  listening  to 
his  friend's  clear,  intelligent,  and  mas- 
terly descriptions  of  this  wonderful 
land.  At  last  the  clock  struck  nine  ; 
he  started  up  in  astonishment. 

"I  shall  get  a  scolding  if  I  stay 
later,"  said  he;  and  off  he  went  to 
Grassmere. 

"  Have  you  nothing  else  to  say  to 
me  ?  "  asked  Meadows,  as  the  farmer 
put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  fcplied  tfe 
other,  and  cantered  away. 

"  Confound  him  !  "  muttered  Mead- 
ows ;  "  he  comes  and  stops  here  three 
hours,  drinks  my  ale,  gets  my  knowl- 


40 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


ed^e  witliout  the  trouble  of  difrj^inp: 
lor  't,  ami  ^'oes  ;i\vay,  :inii  not  Ji  word 
from  Susan,  or  even  iv,  word  al)Out 
her,  —  one  word  would  have  paid  me 
for  all  this  loss  of  time,  —  but  no,  I 
was  JK)t  to  have  it.  1  will  be  in  Dev- 
onshire this  tiuie  to-morrow,  —  no,  to- 
moirow  is  m;irket-day,  —  hut  the  day 
af'tt-r  I  will  go.  I  eannot  live  here 
anil  not  see  her,  nor  speak  to  her, — 
'twill  drive  me  mad." 

The  next  morning  as  Meadows 
mounted  his  borse  to  ride  to  market, 
a  carter's  hoy  canie  up  to  him,  and, 
taking  off  his"  hat  and  pulling  bis  head 
down  by  the  front  lo'k  by  way  of 
salute,  |>ut  a  note  into  his  hand. 

Meadows  took  it  and  opened  it  care- 
lessly, it  was  a  handwriting  he  did 
not  know.  But  his  eye  had  no  soon- 
er glanced  at  the  signature,  than  his 
eyes  gleamed,  and  his  whole  frame 
trembk'd  with  emotion  he  could  hard- 
ly hide.     This  was  the  letter :  — 

"  Dear  Mr.  Meadovts  : 

"  We  have  not  seen  you  here  a  long 
time,  and,  if  you  could  take  a  cup  of 
tea  with  us  on  your  way  home  from 
market,  my  father  would  be  glad  to 
see  you,  if  it  is  not  troubling  you  too 
luueh.  I  believe  he  has  some  calves 
he  wishes  to  show  you. 
"  I  am 

"  Yours,  respectfully, 
"  Susan  Merton. 

"  P.  S.  Father  has  been  confined 
by  rheumatism,  and  I  have  not  been 
well  this  last  month." 

Meadows  turned  away  from  the 
messenger,  and  said  quietly  :  "  Tell 
Miss  Merton  I  will  come  if  possible." 
lie  then  galloped  off,  and,  as  soon  as 
there  was  no  one  in  sight,  gave  vent 
to  his  face  and  his  exulting  soul. 

Now  he  congratulated  himself  on 
his  goodness  in  making  a  certain  vow, 
and  his  firmness  in  kee])ing  it. 

"  I  kept  out  of  their  way,  and  they 
have  invited  me ;  my  conscience  is 
clear." 

He  then  asked  himself  why  Susan 
had   invited   him ;  and  he  could  not 


but  augur  the  most  favorable  results 
fiom  liiis  act  on  her  part  ;  true  his 
manner  to  her  had  never  gi)ne  beyond 
friendship,  but  women,  he  argued,  are 
(juick  to  discern  their  admirers  under 
every  di.sguise.  She  was  dull  and  out 
of  spirits,  and  wrote  for  him  to  come 
to  her  ;  this  was  a  great  point,  a  good 
heginning  :  "  The  sea  is  between 
her  and  George,  and  I  am  here,  with 
time  and  opportunity  on  my  side," 
said  Meadows  ;  and,  as  these  thoughts 
coursed  through  his  heart,  his  gray 
nag,  spurred  by  an  unconscious  heel, 
broke  into  a  hand-gallop,  and  after  an 
hour  and  a  half  hard  riding  they  clat- 
tered into  the  town  of  Xewhorough. 

The  habit  of  driving  hard  bargains 
is  a  good  thing  for  teaching  a  man  to 
suppress  his  feelings  and  feign  indif- 
ference ;  yet  the  civil  noncJialdnce  with 
which  Meadows,  on  his  return  from 
Newborough,  walked  into  the  Mer- 
tons'  parlor  cost  him  no  ordinary 
struggle. 

Tlie  farmer  received  him  cordially ; 
Susan,  civilly,  and  with  a  somewhat 
feeble  smile.  The  former  soon  en- 
gaged him  in  agricultural  talk.  Susan 
meanwhile  maile  the  tea  in  silence, 
and  Meadows  began  to  think  she  was 
capricious,  and  had  no  sooner  got 
what  she  asked  for  than  she  did  not 
care  for  it.  After  a  while,  however, 
she  put  in  a  word  here  and  there,  but 
with  a  discouraging  languor. 

Presently  Farmer  Merion  brought 
her  his  teacup  to  be  replenished  ;  and 
upon  this  opportunity  Susan  said  a 
word  to  her  father  in  an  undertone. 


"Oh 


"  replietl  the  farmer,  very 


loud  ii deed  ;  and  Susan  colored. 

"  What  was  you  saying  to  me  about 
that  country,  —  that  Christmas  day  is 
the  hottest  day  in  the  year?"  began 
Mr.  Merton. 

Meadows  assented,  and  Merton  pro- 
ceeded to  put  other  questions,  in  order, 
it  appeared,  to  draw  once  more  from 
Meadows  the  interesting  information 
of  last  night. 

Meadows  answered  shortly,  and 
with  repugnance.  Then  Susan  put 
in  :    "  And   is   it  true,  sir,  that   the 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


41 


flowers  are  beautiful  to  the  eye,  but 
have  no  smell,  and  that  the  birds  have 
all  gay  feathers,  but  no  song  ?  "  Then 
iSustin,  S(,'areely  giving  him  time  to 
answer,  proceeded  to  ])ut  several  ques- 
tions, and  her  manner  was  no  longer 
languid,  but  bright  and  animated. 
She  wound  up  her  interrogatories  with 
this  climax. 

'•  And  do  you  think,  sir,  it  is  a  coun- 
try where  George  will  be  able  to  do 
any  good  1  And  will  he  have  his 
health  in  that  land,  so  far  from  every 
one  to  tiike  care  of  him  ?  " 

And,  this  doubt  raised,  the  bright 
eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

Meadows  gasped  out,  "  "Why  not  ? 
why  not  ?  "  but  soon  after,  muttering 
some  excuse  about  his  horse,  he  went 
out  with  a  promise  to  return  imme- 
diately. 

He  was  no  sooner  alone  than  he 
gave  way  to  a  burst  of  rage  and  bit- 
terness. 

"  So  she  only  sent  for  me  here  to 
make  me  tell  her  about  that  infernal 
country  where  her  George  is.  I  'II 
ride  home  this  instant,  —  this  very  in- 
stant, —  without  bidding  them  good 
by." 

Cooler  thoughts  came.  He  mused 
deeply  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  clench- 
ing his  teeth,  returned  slowly  to  the 
little  parlor  ;  he  sat  down  and  took 
his  line  Avith  a  brisk  and  cheerful  air. 

"  You  were  asking  me  some  ques- 
tions about  Australia.  I  can  tell  you 
all  about  that  country,  for  I  have  a 
relation  there  who  writes  to  me.  And 
I  have  read  all  the  books  about  it 
too,  as  it  happens." 

Susan  brightened  up. 

Meadows,  by  a  great  histrionic 
effort,  brightened  up  too,  and  ]>oured 
out  a  flood  of  really  interesting  facts 
and  anecdotes  about  this  marvellous 
hmd. 

Then,  in  the  middle  of  a  narrative 
which  enchained  both  his  hearers,  he 
suddenly  looked  at  his  watch,  and,  put- 
ting on  a  fictitious  look  of  dismay  and 
annoyance,  started  up  with  many  ex- 
cuses and  went  home, — not  however 


till  Susan  had  made  him  promise  to 
come  again  next  market  day. 

As  he  rode  home  in  the  moonlight, 
Susan's  face  seemed  still  helore  him. 
Tiie  bright  look  of  interest  she  had 
given  him,  the  grateful  smiles  with 
which  she  had  thanked  him  for  his 
narration,  —  all  this  had  been  so 
sweet  at  the  moment,  so  bitter  upon 
the  least  reflection.  His  mind  was  in 
a  whirl.  At  last  he  grasped  at  one 
idea,  and  held  it  as  with  a  vice. 

"  I  shall  be  always  welcome  to  her 
if  I  can  bring  myself  to  talk  al)&ut 
that  detestable  country.  Well,  I  will 
grind  my  tongue  down  to  it.  She 
shall  not  be  able  to  do  without  my 
chat;  that  shall  be  the  beginning; 
the  middle  shall  be  diflerent ;  the  end 
shall  be  just  the  opposite.  The  sea  is 
between  him  and  her.  I  am  Ivere 
with  opportunity,  resolution,  and 
money.     I  will  have  her  !  " 

The  next  morning  his  mother  said 
to  him  :  — 

"  John,  do  you  think  to  go  to-day  "i " 

"  Where,  mother  1  " 

"  The  journey  you  spoke  of  ?  " 

"  What  journey  ?  " 

"  Among  the  mines." 

"Not  I." 

"  You  have  changed  your  mind, 
then." 

*•  What,  did  n't  you  see  I  was  jok- 
ing ?  " 

"No  !  "  (very  dryly.) 

Soon  after  this  little  dialogue  Dame 
Meadows  proposed  to  end  her  visit 
and  return  home.  Her  son  yielded  a 
cheerful  assent.  She  went  gravely 
and  quietly  back  to  her  little  cot- 
tage. 

Meadows  had  determined  to  make 
himself  necessary  to  Susan  Merton. 
He  brought  a  woman's  cunning  to 
i>ear  against  a  woman  ;  for  the  artifice 
to  which  his  strong  will  bent  his  sup- 
ple talent  is  one  that  many  women 
have  had  the  tact  i\\v\  temporary  self- 
denial  tO'  carry  out,  but  nut  one  man 
in  a  hundred. 

Men  try  to  beat  an  absent  rival  by 
snee*ring  at  him,  etc.  By  which  means 
the  asses  make  their  absent  foe  present 


42 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEXD." 


to  her  mind,  and  enlist  the  whole 
-woman  in  his  defence. 

But  Meadows  was  no  ordinary  man. 
Susan  had  <:iven  his  quick  intelligence 
a  glimpse  of  a  way  to  please  her  :  he 
looked  at  the  end,  and  crushed  his 
will  down  to  the  thorny  means. 

Twice  a  week  he  called  on  the  Mer- 
tons,  and  much  of  his  talk  was  Aus- 
tralia. Susan  was  grateful.  To  hear 
of  the  place  where  George  would  soon 
be  was  the  nearest  approach  she  could 
make  to  hearing  of  George. 

As  for  Meadows  he  gained  a  great 
point,  but  he  went  through  tortures  on 
the  way.  He  could  not  hide  from 
himself  why  he  was  so  welcome  ;  and 
many  a  time  as  he  rode  home  from 
tlie  Mortons  he  resolved  never  to 
return  there,  but  he  took  no  more 
oaths  ;  it  had  cost  him  so  much  to 
keep  the  last ;  and  that  befell  which 
might  have  been  expected,  —  after  a 
while,  the  pleasure  of  being  near  the 
woman  he  loved,  of  being  distin- 
guished by  her  and  greeted  with  pleas- 
ure however  slight,  grew  into  a  habit 
and  a  need. 

Achilles  was  a  man  of  steel,  but  he 
had  a  vulnerable  part ;  and  iron  na- 
tures like  John  Meadows  have  often 
one  spot  in  their  souls  where  they 
are  far  tenderer  than  the  universal 
dove-eyed,  and  weaker  than  the  om- 
nipotent. He  never  spoke  a  word 
of  love  to  Susan,  he  knew  it  would 
spoil  all ;  and  she,  occupier  with 
another's  image,  and  looking  np-^.n 
herself  as  confessedly  belonging  to 
another,  never  suspectinrr  the  deep 
passion  that  filled  this  man's  heart. 
But  if  an  observer  of  nature  had 
accompanied  John  Meadows  on  mar- 
ket-day he  might  have  seen  —  diag- 
nostics. 

All  the  morning  his  eye  was  cold 
and  (piick ;  his  mouth,  when  silent, 
close,  firm,  and  unreadable  ;  his  voice 
clear,  decided,  and  Occasionally  loud. 
But  when  he  got  to  old  Merton's 
fireside  he  mellowed  and  softened 
like  the  sun  towards  evening:  there, 
his  forehead  unknit  itself;  his  voice, 
pitched  in  quite  a  different  key  from 


his  key  of  business,  turned  also  low 
and  gentle,  and  .soothed  and  secretly 
won  the  hearer  by  its  deep,  rich,  and 
pleasant  modulation  and  variety  ; 
and  his  eye  turned  deeper  in  color, 
and,  losing  its  keenness  and  restless- 
ness, dwelt  calmly  and  pensively  for 
minutes  at  a  time  upon  some  little 
household  object  close  to  Susan  ;  sel- 
dom, utdess  quite  unobserved,  upon 
Susan  herself. 

But  the  surrounding  rustics  sus- 
pected nothing,  so  calm  and  deep  ran 
Meadows. 

"  Dear  heart,"  said  Susan  to  her 
father,  "  who  would  have  thought  Mr. 
Meadows  would  come  a  mile  out  of 
his  way  twice  a  week  to  talk  to  me 
about  Geo —  about  the  country  where 
my  heart  is,  —  and  the  folk  say  he 
thinks  of  nothing  but  money,  and 
won't  move  a  step  without  making 
it." 

"  The  folk  are  envious  of  him, 
girl, — that  is  all.  John  Meadows 
is  too  clever  for  fools,  and  too  in- 
dustrious for  the  lazy  ones  ;  he  is  a 
good  friend  of  mine,  Susan  ;  if  I 
wanted  to  borrow  a  thousand  pounds 
I  have  only  to  draw  on  Meadows; 
he  has  told  me  so  half  a  dozen 
times." 

"  We  don't  want  his  money,  fa- 
ther," replied  Susan,  "  nor"  any- 
body's ;  but  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
his  kindness,  and  George  shall  thank 
him  when  he  comes  home,  —  if  ever  he 
comes  home  to  Sut^n  again."  These 
last  words  broy^t  many  tears  with 
them,  which  th^  old  farmer  pretend- 
ed not  to  notice,  for  he  was  getting 
tired  of^his  daughter's  tears.  Tliey 
were  always  flowing  now  at  the  least 
word,  "  and  she  used  to  be  so  good- 
humored  and  cheerful  like." 

Poor  Susan  !  she  was  very  unhap- 
py. If  any  one  had  sai<l  to  her.  "  To- 
morrow you  die,"  she  would  have 
smiled  on  her  own  account,  and  only 
sighed  at  the  pain  the  news  would 
cause  poor  George.  Her  Georjre  was 
gone,  her  mother  had  been  dead  this 
two  years.  Ilcr  life,  which  had  been 
full  of  innocent  pleasures,   was  now 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


43 


ntterly  tasteless,  except  in  its  hours  of 
bitterness  when  sorrow  overcame  her 
like  a  Hood.  She  had  a  pretty  flow- 
er-garden, in  which  she  used  to  work. 
When  George  was  at  home,  what 
pleasure  it  had  been  to  plant  them 
with  her  lover's  help,  to  watch  them 
expand,  to  water  them  in  the  sum- 
mer evening,  to  smell  their  gratitude 
for  the  artificial  shower  after  a  sultry 
day,  and  then  to  have  George  in, 
and  set  him  admiring  them  with 
such  threadbare  enthusiasm,  simply 
because  they  were  hers,  not  in  the 
least  because  they  were  Nature's. 

I  will  go  back  like  the  epic  writers, 
and  sketch  one  of  their  little  garden 
scenes. 

One' evening,  after  watering  them 
all,  she  sat  down  on  a  seat  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  and,  casting  her 
eyes  over  her  whole  domain,  said  : 
"  Well,  now,  I  do  admire  flowers  ; 
don't  you,  George  ?  *' 

"  That  I  do,"  replied  George,  tak- 
ing another  seat,  and  coolly  turning 
his  back  on  the  parterre,  and  gazing 
mildly  into  Susan's  eyes. 

"  Why,  he  is  not  even  looking  at 
them  !  "  cried  Susan,  and  she  clapped 
her  hand  and  lauglied  gleefully. 

"  O  yes,  he  is  ;  leastways  he  is 
looking  at  one  of  them,  and  the  bright- 
est of  the  lot  to  my  fancy." 

Susan  colored  with  pleasure.  In 
the  country  compliments  don't  drip 
constantly  on  beauty,  even  from  the 
lips  of  love.  Then,  suppressing  her 
satisfaction,  she  said  :  "  You  will  look 
for  a  flower  in  return  for  that,  young 
man  ;  come  and  let  us  see  whether 
there  is  one  good  enough  for  you." 
So  then  they  took  hands,  and  Susan 
drew  him  demurely  about  the  garden. 
Presently  she  stopped  with  a  little 
start  of  hypocritical  admiration  ;  at 
their  feet  shone  a  marigold.  Susan 
culled  the  gaudy  flower,  and  placed  it 
affectionately  in  George's  button-hole. 
He  received  it  proudly,  and,  shaking 
hands  with  her,  for  it  was  time  to 
part,  turned  away  slowly.  She  let 
him  take  a  step  or  two,  then  called 
him  back.     "  He  was  really  going  off" 


with  that  nasty  thing."  She  took 
it  out  of  his  button-liole,  rubbed  it 
against  his  nose  with  well-feigned  an- 
ger, and  then  threw  it  away. 

"  You  are  all  behind  in  flowers, 
George,"  said  Susan  ;  "  here,  this  is 
good  enough  for  you " ;  and  she 
brought  out  from  under  her  apron, 
where  she  had  carried  the  fin-tively 
culled  treasure,  a  lovely  clove-pink : 
pretty  soul,  she  had  nursed,  and  wa- 
tered, and  cherished  this  choice  flow- 
er this  three  weeks  past  for  George, 
and  this  was  her  way  of  giving  it  him 
at  last :  so  a  true  woman  gives  — 
(her  life,  if  need  be).  George  took 
it,  and  smelled  it,  and  lingered  a  mo- 
ment at  the  garden  gate,  and  moral- 
ized on  it.  "  Well,  Susan,  dear,  now 
I  'm  not  so  deep  in  flowers  as  you, 
but  I  like  this  a  deal  better  than  the 
marigold,  and  I'll  tell  you  for  why  : 
it  is  more  like  you,  Susan." 

"  Ay  !  why  ? " 

"I  see  flowers  that  are  pretty,  but 
have  no  smell,  and  I  see  women  that 
have  good  looks,  but  no  great  wisdom 
nor  goodness  when  you  come  nearer 
to  them.  Now  the  marigold  is  like 
those  lasses ;  but  this  pink  is  good  as 
well  as  pretty,  so  then  it  will  stand 
for  you,  when  we  are  apart,  as  we 
mostly  are, — worse  luck  for  me." 

"  d  George,"  said  Susan,  dropping 
her  quizzing  manner,  "  I  am  a  long 
way  behind  the  marigold  or  any  flow- 
er in  comeliness  and  innocence,  but 
at  least  I  wish  I  was  better." 

"  I  don't." 

"  Ay,  but  I  do,  ten  times  better, 
for  —  for  —  " 

"  For  why,  Susan  % " 

Susan  closed  the  garden  gate,  and 
took  a  step  towards  the  house.  Then 
turning  her  head  over  her  shoulder 
Avith  an  ineffable  look  of  tenderness, 
tipped  with  one  tint  of  lingering  arch- 
ness, she  let  fall,  "  For  your  sake, 
George,"  in  the  direction  of  George's 
feet,  and  glided  across  the  garden 
into  the  house. 

George  stood  watching  her  :  he  did 
not  at  first  take  up  all  she  had  be- 
.stowed  on  him,  for  her  sex  has  pecu- 


14 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


liar  mastery  over  lanj^najje,  being 
diabolically  an;2;eiic-ally  t>ul)tle  in  the 
art  of  sayiiij;  sonietliin<^  that  express- 
es I  oz.  an<l  im|)lie.s  1  cwt.  ;  but  when 
he  did  comprehend,  his  heart  exulted. 
lie  strode  home  as  if  he  trod  on  air, 
and  often  kissed  the  little  flower  he 
had  taken  from  the  beloved  hand, 
"  and  with  it  words  of  so  sweet  breath 
composed,  as  made  the  thinj^  more 
rich";  and  as  he  marched  past  the 
house  kissinj;  the  flower,  need  I  tell 
my  reader  that  so  innocent  a  girl  as 
Susan  was  too  high-minded  to  watch 
the  effect  of  her  proceedings  from  be- 
hind the  curtains  1  I  hope  not,  it 
would  surely  be  superfluous  to  relate 
what  none  would  be  greeu  enough  to 
beheve. 

These  were  Susan's  happy  days  : 
now  all  was  changed  :  she  hated  to 
water  her  flowers  now  :  she  bade  one 
of  tiic  farm-servants  look  to  the  gar- 
den. He  accepted  the  charge,  and  her 
flowers'  drooping  heads  told  how  no- 
bly he  had  fullilled  it,  Susan  was 
charitable.  Every  day  it  had  been 
her  custom  to  visit  more  than  one 
poor  person  ;  she  carried  meal  to  one, 
soup  to  another,  linen  to  another, 
meat  and  bread  to  another,  money  to 
another;  to  all,  words  and  looks  of 
sympathy  ;  this  practice  she  did  no| 
even  now  give  up,  for  it  came  under 
the  head  of  her  religious  duties,  but 
she  relaxed  it.  She  often  sent  to 
places  where  she  used  to  go.  Until 
George  went  she  had  never  thought 
of  herself:  and  so  the  selfishness  of 
those  she  relieved  had  not  struck  her  : 
now  it  made  her  bitter  to  see  that  none 
of  those  she  pitied  pitied  her.  The 
moment  she  came  into  their  houses, 
it  was,  "  Ml/  poor  head,  Miss  Merton  ; 
1111/  old  bones  do  ache  so, 

"  I  think  a  bit  of  your  nice  bacon 
would  do  ME  good,  I'm  a  poor  suf- 
ferer, Miss  Merton.  My  boy  is 
'listed.  I  thought  as  how  you  'd  for- 
gotten me  altogether  :  but  't  is  hard 
for  ])oor  folk  to  keep  a  friend. 

"  You  see,  miss,  ??iy  bedroom  win- 
dow is  broken  in  one  or  two  places. 
John,  he  stopped  it  up  with  paper  the 


best  way  he  could,  but  la,  bless  3T  j 
paper  hain't  like  glass.  It  is  very  dull 
tor  me  :  you  see,  miss,  I  can't  get  about 
now  as  I  used  to  could,  and  I  never 
was  no  great  reader.  I  often  wish  ag 
some  one  would  step  in  and  knock  me 
on  the  head,  for  I  be  no  use,  I  hain't, 
ne'er  a  mossel."  No  one  of  them 
looked  up  in  her  face  and  said, 
"  Lauks,  how  pale  yon  ha'  got  to  look, 
miss  ;  I  hopes  as  how  nothing  amiss 
haven't  happened  to  you,  that  have 
been  so  kind  to  us  this  many  a  day  "  : 
yet  suffering  of  some  sort  was  plainly 
stam|3ed  on  the  face  and  in  the  man- 
ner of  this  relieving  angel.  When  they 
poured  out  their  vulgar  woes,  Susan 
made  an  effort  to  forget  her  own  and  to 
cheer  as  well  as  relieve  them  :  but  she 
had  to  compress  her  own  heart  hard 
to  do  it ;  and  this  suppression  of  feeling 
makes  people  more  or  less  bitter  :  she 
had  better  have  out  with  it,  and 
scolded  them  well  for  talking  as  if 
they  alone  were  unhappy ;  but  her 
woman's  nature  would  not  let  her. 
They  kept  asking  her  for  pity,  and 
she  still  gulped  down  her  own  heart 
and  gave  it  them,  till  at  last  she  began 
to  take  a  spite  against  her  pets  ;  so 
then  she  sent  to  most  of  them  instead 
of  going.  She  sent  rather  larger 
slices  of  beef  and  bacon,  and  rather 
more  yards  of  flannel,  than  Avhen  she 
used  to  carry  the  like  to  them  herself. 
Susan  had  one  or  two  young  friends, 
daughters  of  farmers  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, with  whom  she  was  a  favorite, 
though  the  gayer  x>nes  sometimes 
quizzed  her  for  her  religious  tenden- 
cies, and  her  lamentable  indifference 
to  flirtation ;  hut  then  she  was  so 
crood,  and  so  good-humored  and  so 
tolerant  of  other  pcof)le's  tastes.  The 
prattle  of  these  young  ladies  became 
now  intolerable  to  Susan,  and,  when 
she  saw  them  coming  lo  call  on  her, 
she  used  to  snatch  up  her  bonnet,  and 
fly  and  lock  herself  up  in  a  closet  at 
the  top  of  the  house,  and  read  some 
good  book  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  till  the 
servants  had  hunted  for  her,  atid  told 
them  she  must  be  out.  She  was  not 
in  a  frame  of  mind  to  sustain  tarla- 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO 


tans,  haregp.,  the  history  of  the  last 
hop,  and  the  prophecies  of  the  next ; 
tlie  wounded  deer  shrank  from  its  gam- 
bolling associates,  and,  indeed,  from 
all  strangers  except  John  Meadows  : 
"  He  talks  to  me  about  something 
worth  talking  about,"  said  Susan 
Merton.  It  happened  one  day,  Avhile 
Susan  was  in  this  sad  and  I  may  say 
dangerous  state  of  mind,  that  the  ser- 
vant came  up  to  her,  and  told  her  a 
gentleman  was  on  his  horse  at  the 
door,  aud  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Mer- 
ton. 

"  Father  is  at  market,  Jane." 

"  Yes,  miss,  but  I  told  the  gentle- 
man you  were  at  home." 

"  Me !  what  have  I  to  do  with 
father's  visitors  ?  " 

**  Miss,"  replied  Jane,  mysteriously, 
"  it  is  a  parson,  and  you  are  so  fond 
of  them,  1  could  not  think  to  let  him 
go  away  without  getting  a  word  with 
anybody  ;  and  he  has  such  a  face,  — 
la,  miss,  you  never  saw  such  a  face." 

"  Silly  jiirl,  what  have  I  to  do  with 
handsome  faces  ?  " 

"  But  he  is  not  handsome,  miss, 
not  in  the  least,  only  he  is  beautiful. 
You  go  and  see  else." 

"  I  hate  strangei's'  faces  ;  but  I  will 
go  to  him,  Jane  ;  it  is  my  duty  since 
it  is  a  clergyman.  I  will  just  go  up 
stairs." 

"  La,  miss,  what  for  ?  you  are  al- 
ways neat,  you  are, — nobody  ever 
catches  you  in  your  dishables  like  the 
rest  of  'em." 

"  I  '11  just  smooth  my  hair." 

"La.  miss,  what  for?  it  is  smooth 
as  marble,  —  it  always  is." 

'•'  Where  is  he,  Jane  ?  " 

"  In  the  front  parlor." 

"  I  won't  he  a  moment." 

She  went  up  stairs.  There  was  no 
necessity  ;  Jane  was  right  there  :  but 
it  was  a  strict  custom  in  the  country, 
and  is  for  that  matter,  and  will  be  till 
time  and  vanity  shall  be  no  more  : 
more  mnjnnim,  a  girl  mast  go  up  and 
look  at  herself  in  the  glass  if  she  did 
nothing  more,  before  coming  in  to 
receive  company. 

Susan  entered  the  parlor ;  she  came 


LATE  ^  MEND."  45 

in  so  gently  wKit  'she  had  a  roomenty' 
to  observe  her  vi!*ktwe--U»ifore  he  s*aw 
her.  lie  had  seated  liiinself  with  his 
back  to  the  light,  and  was  devouring 
a  stupid  book  on  husbandry  that  be- 
longed to  her  father.  The  moment 
she  closed  the  door  he  saw  her,  aud 
rose  from  his  seat. 

"Miss  Merton?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  The  living  of  this  place  has  been 
vacant  more  than  a  month." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  will  not  be  filled  up  for  three 
months,  perhaps." 

"  So  we  hear,  sir." 

"  Meantime  you  have  no  church  to 
go  to  nearer  than  Barmstoke,  which 
is  a  chapel -of-ease  to  this  place,  but 
two  miles  distant." 

"  Two  miles  and  a  half,  sir." 

"  So,  then,  the  people  here  have  no 
divine  service  on  the  Lord's  day." 

"  No,  sir,  not  for  the  present,"  said 
Susan,  meekly,  lowering  her  lashes; 
as  if  the  clergyman  had  said,  "  this  is 
a  parish  of  heathens,  whereof  vou  are 
one." 

"  Nor  any  servant  of  God  to  say  a 
word  of  humility  and  charity  to  the 
rich,  of  eternal  hope  to  the  poor,  and  " 
(here  his  voice  sunk  into  sudden  ten- 
derness) "of  comfort  to  the  sorrow- 
ful." 

Susan  raised  her  eyes  and  looked 
him  over  with  one  dovelike  glance, 
then  instantly  lowered  them. 

"  ^o,  sir,  we  are  all  under  a  cloud 
here,"  said  Susan,  sadly. 

"Miss  Merton,  I  have  undertaken 
the  duty  here  until  the  living  shall  be 
filled  lip  :  but  you  shall  understand 
that  I  live  thirty  miles  ofi",  and  have 
other  duties,  and  I  can  only  ride  over 
here  on  Saturday  afternoon,  aud  back 
Monday  at  noon." 

"  O  sir  !  "  cried  Susan,  "  half  a  loaf 
is  better  than  no  bread  !  The  parish 
will  bless  you,  sir,  and  no  doubt," 
added  she,  timidly,  "  the  Lord  will  re- 
ward you  for  comintr  so  far  to  us  !  " 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  the 
clergyman,  thoughtfully.  "  Well,  let 
us  do  the  best  we  can :  tell  me  first. 


40 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


Miss  Mcrton,  do  you  think  the  ab- 
sence of  a  clergynuin  is  regretted 
here  1  " 

"  Regretted,  sir  !  dear  heart,  what 
a  question:  you  niij^^ht  as  well  ask 
me,  do  father's  turnips  long  for  rain 
after  a  montli's  drought  "  ;  and  Susan 
turned  on  her  visitor  a  face  into  which 
the  innocent,  venerating  love  her  sex 
have  for  an  ecclesiastic  flashed  without 
disguise. 

Her  companion  smiled,  but  it  was 
witli  benevolence,  not  with  gratified 
vanity, 

"  Let  me  now  explain  my  visit. 
Your  fiither  is  one  of  the  principal 
people  in  the  village.  He  can  assist 
me  or  thwart  me  in  my  work.  I 
called  to  invite  his  co-operation.  Some 
cleri^rymen  are  jealous  of  co-operation  ; 
I  am  not ;  it  is  a  good  tiling  for  all 
parties  ;  best  of  all  for  those  who  co- 
operate with  us  ;  for  in  giving  alms 
wisely  they  receive  grace,  and  in 
teaching  the  ignorant  they  learn 
themselves.  Am  I  right?  "  added  he, 
rather  sharply,  turning  suddenly  upon 
Susan. 

"  0  sir,"  said  Susan,  a  little  star- 
tled, "it  is  for  me  to  receive  your 
words,  not  to  judge  them." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman, rather  dryly  ;  he  hated  iniel- 
lectual  subserviency  :  he  liked  people 
to  think  for  themselves  ;  and  to  end 
by  thinking  with  him. 

"  Father  will  never  thwart  you,  sir, 
and  I  —  I  will  cooperate  with  you, 
sir,  if  you  will  accept  of  me,"  said 
Susan,  innocently. 

"  Thank  you,  then  let  us  begin  at 
once."  He  took  out  his  watch.  "  I 
have  an  hour  and  a  half  to  spare, 
then  I  must  gallop  back  to  Oxford. 
Miss  Merton,  I  should  like  to  make  ac- 
quaintance with  some  of  the  people. 
Suppose  we  go  to  the  school,  and  see 
wliat  the  children  are  learning;  and 
then  visit  one  or  two  families  in  the 
village,  so  I  shall  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  three  gent'rations  I  have  to  deal 
with.  My  name  is  Francis  Eden. 
You  are  going  to  get  your  bonnet  1 '' 

"  Yes,  sir." 


"  Thank  you." 

They  passed  out  through  the  gar- 
den. Mr.  Eden  stopped  to  look  at 
the  flowers.     Susan  colored. 

"  It  has  been  rather  neglected  of 
late,"  said  she,  apologetically. 

"  It  must  have  been  very  well  ta- 
ken care  of  before,  then,"  said  he, 
"  for  it  looks  charming  now.  Ah  !  I 
love  flowers  dearly  !  "  and  he  gave  a 
little  sigh. 

They  reached  the  school,  and  Mr. 
Eden  sat  down  and  examined  the  lit- 
tle boys  and  girls.  When  he  sat 
down,  Susan  winced.  How  angry 
he  will  be  at  their  ignorance  !  thought 
Susan.  But  Mr.  Eden,  instead  of 
putting  on  an  awful  look,  and  im- 
pressing on  the  children  that  a  being 
of  another  generation  was  about  to 
attack  them,  made  himself  young  to 
meet  their  minds.  A  pleasant  smile 
disarmed  their  fears.  He  spoke  to 
them  in  very  simple  words  and  child- 
ish idioms,  and  told  them  a  pretty 
story,  which  interested  them  mightily. 
Having  set  their  minds  really  work- 
ing, he  put  questions  arising  fairly 
out  of  his  story,  and  so  fathomed  the 
moral  sense  and  the  intelliy:ence  of 
more  than  one.  In  short  he  drew  the 
brats  out  instead  of  crushing  them  in. 
Susan  stood  by,  at  flrst  startled  at 
the  line  he  took,  then  observant,  then 
a])proving.  Presently  he  turned  to 
her. 

"  And  which  is  your  class,  ^Miss 
Merton  1  " 

Susan  colored. 

"  I  take  these  little  girls  when  I 
come,  sir." 

*'  Miss  Merton  has  not  been  here 
this  foitnight,"  said  a  pert  teacher. 

Susan  could  have  beat  her.  "  What 
will  this  good  man  think  of  me  now  ?  " 
thotight  poor  Susan. 

To  her  grateful  relief,  the  good 
man  took  no  notice  of  the  observa- 
tion ;  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Now,  Miss  Merton,  if  I  am  not 
giving  you  too  much  trouble  "  ;  and 
they  left  the  school. 

"  You  wish  to  see  some  of  the  folk 
ia  the  village,  sir  1 " 


"IT  IS  NEVEE  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


«  ^es." 

"  Where  shall  I  take  you  first,  sir  ? 

"  Where  I  oug-ht  to  jro  first." 

Susan  looked  puzzled. 

Mr.  Eden  stopped  dead  short. 

"  Come,  guess,"  said  he,  with  a  ra- 
diant smile,  "and  don't  look  so 
scared.  I  '11  forgive  you  if  you  guess 
wrong." 

Susan  looked  this  way  and  that, 
encouraged  by  his  merry  smile.  She 
let  out,  scarce  above  a  whisper,  and 
in  a  tone  of  interrogation,  as  who 
should  say,  this  is  not  to  be  my  last 
chance  since  I  have  only  asked  a 
question,  not  risked  an  answer  :  — 

"  To  the  poorest,  Mr.  Eden  1  " 

"Brava!  she  has  guessed  it,"  cried 
the  Reverend  Frank,  triumphantly  ; 
for  he  had  been  more  anxious  she 
should  answer  right  than  she  had  her- 
self. "  Young  lady,  I  have  friends 
with  their  heads  full  of  Latin  and 
Greek  who  could  not  have  answered 
that  so  quickly  as  you ;  one  proof 
more  how  goodness  brightens  in- 
telligence," added  he,  in  soliloquy. 
"  Here  '"s  a  cottage." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  was  going  to  take  you 
into  this  one,  if  you  please." 

They  found  in  the  cottage  a  rheu- 
matic old  man,  one  of  those  we  al- 
luded to  as  full  of  his  own  complaints. 
Mr.  Eden  heard  these  with  patience, 
and  then,  after  a  few  words  of  kind 
sympathy  and  acquiescence,  for  he 
was  none  of  those  hard  humbugs  wlio 
tell  a  man  that  old  age,  rheumatism, 
and  poverty  are  strokes  v.ith  a  feather, 
he  said,  quietly  :  — 

"And  now  for  the  other  side  ;  nov/ 
tell  me  what  you  have  to  be  grateful 
for." 

The  old  m.an  was  taken  aback,  and 
his  fluency  deserted  him.  On  the 
question  being  repeated,  lie  began  to 
say  tluit  he  had  many  mercies  to  be 
thankful  for.  Then  he  higgled  and 
hammered  and  fumbled  for  the  said 
mercies,  and  tried  to  enumerate  them, 
but  in  phrases  conventional  and  de- 
rived from  tracts  and  sermons;  where- 
as his  statement  of  grievances  had 
been  idiomatic. 


"There,  that  will  do,"  said  Mr. 
Eden,  smiling,  "  say  nothnit,^  von 
don't  feel ;  what  is  the  use  Y  .\l;iy 
I  ask  you  a  few  (pus-^lions  '  "  addcil 
he,  courteously  ;  then,  wiiliout  w.iit- 
ing  for  permission,  lie  divi-d  skiHiilly 
into  this  man's  life,  and  fislnd  up 
all  the  pearls,  —  the  more  rcmai-ka!)lc 
passages. 

Many  years  ago  this  old  man  had 
been  a  soldier,  had  fought  in  more 
than  one  great  battle,  had  retreated 
with  Sir  John  Moore  upon  Corunna, 
and  been  one  of  the  battered  and 
weary,  but  invincible  band,  who 
wheeled  round  and  stunned  tlie  pur- 
suers on  tliat  bloody  and  gloriQus 
day.  Islr.  Eden  went  with  the  old 
man  to  Spain,  discussed  with  great 
animation  the  retreat,  the  battle,  the 
position  of  the  forces,  and  the  old 
soldier's  personal  prowess.  Old 
Giles  perked  up,  and  dilated,  and  was 
another  man ;  lie  forgot  his  rheuma- 
tism, and  even  his  old  age.  Twice 
he  suddenly  stood  upright  as  a  dart 
on  the  floor,  and  gave  the  word  of 
command  like  a  trumpet  in  some 
brave  captain's  name ;  and  his  cheek 
flushed,  and  his  eye  glittered  with  the 
light  of  battle.  Susan  looked  at 
him  with  astonishment.  Then  when 
h.is  heart  was  Avarm  and  his  spirits 
attentive,  Mr.  Eden  began  to  throw 
in  a  few  words  of  exhortation.  But 
even  then  he  did  not  bully  the  ntan 
into  being  a  Christian  ;  gently,  firm- 
ly, and  with  a  winning  modesty,  he 
said  :  "  I  think  you  have  much  to  1)6 
thankful  for,  like  all  the  rest  of  us. 
Is  it  not  a  mercy  }0u  were  not  out 
off  in  your  wild  and  dissolute  youth  1 
you  might  have  been  slain  in  battle." 
"  That  I  might,  sir  ;  three  of  us 
went  from  this  parish,  and  only  one 
came  home  again." 

"  Ycu  might  have  lost  a  leg  or  an 
arm,  as  many  a  brave  fellow  did  ; 
you  might  have  been  a  cri])j)lc  all 
your  days." 

'•  That  is  true,  sir." 
"  You  survive  here  in  a  Chiistian 
land,  in  possession  of  your  faculties  ; 
the  world,  it  is  true,  lias  but  few  pleas- 


48 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEND; 


ures  to  offer  you,  —  all  the  better  for 
you.  (),  if  i  could  but  make  that  as 
\i\-A\n  to  you  as  it  is  to  mc.  You 
Ikuc  every  encouragement  to  look 
for  happiness  there,  \vhere  alone  it  is 
to  be  found.  Then  courage,  cor- 
poral ;  you  stood  firm  at  Coruinia, 
do  not  g-ive  way  in  this  your  last  and 
most  glorious  battle.  The  stake  is 
greater  than  it  was  at  Vittoria,  or 
Salamanca,  or  Corunna,  or  Water- 
loo. The  eternal  welfare  of  a  sin- 
pie  human  soul  weiglis  a  thousand 
times  more  than  all  the  crowns  and 
empires  in  the  globe.  You  are  in 
danger,  sir.  Discontent  is  a  great 
enemy  of  the  soul.  You  must  pray 
against  it,  —  you  must  fight  against 
it." 

"  And  so  I  will,  sir  ;  you  see  if  I 
don't." 

"You  read,  Mr.  Giles?"  Susan 
had  told  Mr.  Eden  his  name  at  the 
threshold. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  I  can't  abide  them 
nasty  little  prints  they  bring  me." 

"  Of  course  you  can't.  Printed  to 
sell,  not  to  read,  eh  '^  "  Here  is  a  book. 
The  type  is  large,  clear,  and  sharp. 
This  is  an  order-book,  corporal.  It 
comes  from  the  great  Captain  of  our 
salvation.  Every  sentence  in  it  is 
gold  ;  yet  I  think  I  may  safely  ])ick 
out  a  few  for  your  especial  u.^c  at  pres- 
ent." And  Mr.  Eden  sat  down, 
and  producing  from  his  side-pockets, 
which  were  very  profound,  some  long 
thin  slips  of  paper,  he  rapidly  turned 
the  leaves  of  the  Testament  and  in- 
serted his  marks  ;  but  this  occupa- 
tion did  not  for  a  moment  interrupt 
his  other  proceedings. 

"  There  is  a  pipe,  —  you  don't 
smoke,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  leastways  not  when  I 
hain't  got  any  baccy,  and  I  'vc  been 
out  of  that  this  three  days,  —  worse 
luck." 

"  Give  up  smoking,  corporal,  it  is  a 
foul  habit." 

"Ah,  sir!  you  don't  ever  have  a 
lialf-empty  belly  and  u  sorrowful  lu^ari, 
or  vou  would  ii't  tell  an  old  txildier  to 
give  up  his  pipe." 


"  Take  my  advirc.  Give  tip  nil 
such  f.il.sc  consolation,  to  oblige  mo 
now." 

"Well,  .sir,  to  <)l.li<r<"  yon,  I'll  try; 
but  you  (lon'i  know  what  lii.'^  ])ipe  is 
to  a  i)Our  <jUI  man  full  of  nothing  but 
aches  and  pains,  or  you  would  n't  have 
asked  me  "  ;  and  old  (iilc,>  .sighed. 
Susan  sighed  too,  lor  she  thought 
Mr.  Eden  cruel  for  oiue. 

"  Miss  Mertou,"  said  the  latter, 
sternly,  his  eye  twinkling  all  the  time, 
"  he  is  incorrigible ;  and  I  see  you 
agree  with  me  that  it  is  idle  to  torment 
the  incurable.  So  "  (diving  into  the 
capacious  pocket)  "  here  is  an  ounce 
of  his  beloved  poison  "  ;  and  out  came 
a  paper  of  tobacco.  Corporal's  eyes 
brightened  with  surprise  and  satisfac- 
tion. "  Poison  him,  Miss  Merton, 
poison  him  quick,  don't  keep  him  wait- 

•'  Poison  him,  sn*  ? 

"  Fill  his  pipe  for  him,  if  you  please." 

"  That  I  will,  sir,  with  j)leasnre." 
A  white  hand  with  quick  and  suj^ple 
fingers  filled  the  brown  pipe. 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be  :  let  beau- 
ty pay  honor  to  courage ;  above  all, 
to  courage  in  its  decay." 

The  old  man  grinned  with  gratified 
pride.  The  white  hand  liglited  the 
pipe,  and  gave  it  to  the  old  soldier. 
He  smiled  gratefully  all  round,  and 
sucked  his  homely  consolation. 

"  I  compound  with  you,  corporal. 
You  must  let  me  put  you  on  the  road 
to  heaven,  and,  in  return,  I  must  let 
you  go  there  in  a  cloud  of  tobai-co  — 
ugh  f" 

"I  'm  agreeable,  sir,"  said  Giles, 
dryly,  withdrawing  his  j)ipe  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  There,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  closing 
the  marked  Testament,  "  read  often  in 
this  book.  Hrad  /irst  tlie  verses  I 
have  marked,  for  these  very  verses 
have  ilroppcd  comfort  on  tlie  ])Oor,  the 
ti^(-d,  ami  tin-  di.s tressed  for  more  tlian 
ci^lilfin  hundred  years,  and  will  till 
time  shall  be  no  more.  And  now 
good  by,  and  God  bless  you." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,  wherever  you 
go  !  "  cried  the'  old  man,  with  sudden 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


49 


energy,  "  for  you  have  comforted  my 
poor  old  iicart.  I  feel  as  I  hain't  felt 
this  many  a  da}^ :  your  words  arelikc 
the  huglcs  sounding  a  charf^e  all  down 
the  line.  You  must  go,  1  suppose; 
but  do  yc  come  again  and  sec  me. 
And,  Miss  Merton,  you  never  come 
to  sec  me  now,  as  you  used." 

"  Miss  Merton  h;is  hor  occupations 
like  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Mr.  Eden, 
quickly;  "but  she  will  come  to  see 
you,  —  Avon'tshe'? " 

"  0  yes,  sir  !  "  replied  Susan,  has- 
tily. So  then  they  returned  to  the 
faim,  for  Mr.  Eden's  horse  was  in  the 
stable.  At  the  door  they  found  Mr. 
Merton. 

"  This  is  father,  sir.  Father,  this 
is  Mr.  Eden,  that  is  coming  to  take 
the  duty  here  for  awhile." 

After  tlie  ordinary  civilities,  Susan 
drew  her  father  aside,  and,  exchang- 
ing a  few  words  with  him,  disappeared 
into  the  house.  As  Mr.  Eden  was 
mounting  his  horse,  Mr.  Merton  came 
forward,  and  invited  him  to  stay  at 
his  house  whenever  he  should  come 
to  the  ])arish,     Mr.  Eden  hesitated. 

•'Sir,"  said  the  farmer,  "you  v.'ill 
find  no  lodgings  comfortable  within  a 
mile  of  the  church,  and  we  have  a 
large  house  not  half  occupied.  You 
can  make  yourself  quite  at  home." 

"  I  am  'mucli  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 
Merton,  but  must  not  trespass  too  far 
upon  your  courtesy." 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  the  farmer, 
"we  shall  feel  proud  if  you  can  put 
up  with  the  like  of  us." 

"  I  will  come.  I  am  much  obliged 
to  vou,  sir,  and  to  your  daughter." 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  bade  the 
farmer  good  morning.  Susan  came 
out  and  stood  on  the  steps  and  conrte- 
sied  low,  —  rustic  fashion,  —  but  with 
a  grace  of  her  own.  He  took  off  his 
hat  to  her  as  he  rode  out  of  the  gate, 
gave  her  a  sweet  bright  smile  of  adieu, 
and  went  down  tlie  lane  fourteen 
miles  an  hour.  Old  Giles  was  seated 
outside  his  own  door  with  a  pipe  and 
a  book.  At  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
he  looked  up,  and  recognized  his  vis- 
itor, whom  he  had  seen  pass  in  the 
8 


morning.  He  rose  up  erect,  and  sa- 
luted him  by  bringing  his  thumb  with 
a  military  wave  to  his  forehead.  Mr. 
Eden  saluted  him  in  the  same  man- 
ner, but  without  stopping.  The  old 
soldier  sat  down  again.  ;ind  read  and 
smoked.  The  pipe  ended,  —  that  .'^ol- 
ace  was  not  of  an  immortal  kind,  — 
but  the  book  remained  ;  he  read  it 
calmly  but  earnestly  in  the  warm  air 
till  day  declined. 


CHATTER  VII. 

The  next  Saturday  Susan  was  Imsy 
preparing  two  rooms  for  Mr.  Eilcn,  —^ 
a  homely  but  i>iight  bedroom  looking 
eastward,  and  a  snug  room  v.'hcre  he 
could  be  quiet  down  stairs.  Snowy 
sheets  and  curtains  and  toilet-cover 
showed  the  good  housewife.  The 
windows  were  open,  and  a  beautiful 
nosegay  of  Susan's  flowers  on  the 
table.  Mr.  Eden's  eye  brightened  at 
the  comfort,  neatness,  and  freshness 
of  the  whole  thing;  and  Susan,  who 
watched  him  furtively,  felt  pleased  to 
see  him  pleased. 

On  Sunday  he  preached  in  the  par- 
ish church.  1'he  sermon  was  oppo- 
site to  what  the  good  people  here  had 
been  subject  to  ;  instead  of  the  vague 
:ind  cold  generalities  of  an  English 
sermon,  he  drove  home  truths  ho:ne 
in  business-like  En<:lish.  He  used  a 
good  many  illustrations,  and  these 
were  drawn  from  matters  with  which 
this  particular  congregation  were  con- 
versant. He  was  as  full  of  similes 
here  as  he  was  sparing  of  them  when 
he  preached  before  the  University  of 
Oxford.  Any  one  who  had  read  this 
sermon  in  a  book  of  sermons  would 
have  divined  what  sort  of  congrega- 
tion it  was  preached  to,  —  a  primrose 
of  a  sermon.  Mr.  Eden  preached 
from  notes  and  to  the  people,  —  not 
the  air.  Like  every  born  orator,  he 
felt  his  way  with  his  audience,  where- 
as the  preacher  who  is  not  an  orator 
throws  out  his  fine  things,  hit  or 
miss,  and  does  not  know  and  feel  and 


50 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


care  wlictlier  he  is  hitting  or  missing. 
"  Open  your  hand,  shut  your  eyes, 
and  fling  out  the  good  scid  so  much 
per  foot, —  tliat  is  enongh."  No 
This  innn  piw.ched  to  the  f:ices  and 
heart:?  tliiit  liiippencd  to  be  round  hiin. 
Ho  estal)li.shed  hetween  himself  ond 
them  a  pulse,  every  throb  of  which  he 
felt  and  followed.  If  he  eould  not  get 
liold  of  them  one  way,  he  tried  an- 
other ;  he  would  have  them  ;  he  was 
not  there  to  fail.  His  discourse  was 
human  ;  it  was  man  speiking  to  man 
on  the  most  vital  and  interesting  topic 
in  the  world  or  out  of  it ;  it  was  more, 
it  was  brother  speaking  to  brother. 
Hence  some  singular  phenomena: 
%irst,  when  he  gave  the  blessing 
(which  is  a  great  piece  of  eloquence 
commonly  reduced  to  a  very  small 
one  by  monotonous  or  feeble  delivery), 
and  uttered  it,  like  his  discourse,  with 
solemnity,  warmth,  tenderness,  and 
all  his  Hoiil,  the  people  lingered  some 
moments  in  the  cliurch  and  seemed  un- 
wiliing  to  go  at  all.  Second,  nobody 
mistook  their  pew  for  their  four-poster 
during  tlu;  sermon.  This  was  the 
more  remai-kable  as  many  of  the  coii- 
grogatiou  had  formed  a  steady  habit 
of  coming  to  this  })lace  once  a  week 
witli  the  single  view  of  snatching  an 
liour's  repose  from  earthly  and  heav- 
enly cares. 

Tlie  next  moini ng  Mr.  Eden  visited 
some  of  the  poorest  people  in  the  par- 
ish. Susan  accompanied  him,  all  eyes 
and  ears  :  she  observed  that  his  line 
was  not  to  begin  by  dictating  his  own 
topic,  but  lie  in  wait  for  tliera ;  let 
them  first  choose  their  favorite  theme, 
and  so  meet  them  on  this  ground,  and* 
bring  religion  to  bear  on  it.  "  0 
how  wise  he  is  ! "  thought  8usan, 
"  and  how  he  knows  the  heart !  " 

One  Sunday  evening,  three  weeks 
after  his  first  official  visit,  he  had  been 
by  himself  to   see  some  of  the  poor 
people,  and  on  his  return  found  Susan  \ 
alone.     He  sat  down  and   ^avc  :iii  ac-  j 
count  of  his  visits.  i 

"  How  many  ounces  of  U-a  ami  to-  j 
baceo  did  you  give  away,  sir  '  "  asked  | 
Susan,  with  an  arch  smile.  I 


"  Four  tea,  two  tobacco,"  replied 
the  reverend  gentleman. 

"  I  do  notice,  sir,  you  never  earry 
gingerbread  or  the  like  for  the  chil- 
dren." 

"  No  ;  the  young  don't  want  lolly- 
pops,  lor  they  have  youth.  Old  age 
wants  everything,  so  the  old  :u-e  iny 
children,  and  I  tea  and  tobacco  them.'' 

After  tliis  there  was  a  pause. 

"  IMiss  Merton,  you  have  shown  me 
many  persons  who  need  consolation, 
but  'there  is  one  you  say  nothing 
about." 

"  Have  I,  sir  ?  Who  ?  O,  I  think 
I  know.     Old  Dame  Clayton  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  a  young  demoiselle." 

"  Then  I  don't  know  who  it  can  be.'' 

"  Guess." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Susan,  looking 
down. 

"It  is  yourself.  Miss  Merton." 

"  Me,  sir!  Wiiy,  what  is  tlie  mat- 
ter with  me  ?  " 

"  That  you  shall  tell  me,  if  you 
think  me  worthy  of  your  conlidenee." 

"  O,  thank  30U,  sir.  I  have  my 
little  crosses  no  donlit,  like  all  the 
world:  but  I  have  health  and  strength: 
I  have  my  fa! her." 

"  i\ly  child,  you  are  in  trouble. 
You  were,  crying  wiicn  I  came  in." 

"  Indeed,  i  was  not,  sir  !  —  how  did 
you  know  1  was  crying?  " 

"  When  I  came  in,  yoaturned  your 
back  to  me,  instead  of  facing  me, 
which  is  more  natural  when  any  one 
enters  a  room  ;  and  .^oon  after  you 
made  an  excuse  for  leaving-  the  room, 
and  when  yon  came  back  there  was  a 
droj)  of  water  in  your  ri^iht  eyelash." 

"  It  need  not  liavi;  been  a  tear, 
sir !  " 

"  ll  was  not  :  it  was  wnter  ;  you  had 
been  i-emoving  ilie  traces  (^f  te.ars." 

"  (iirls  ;ire  inostlv  always  crying, 
sir;  often  liicv  .loii't  know  for  why, 
liiit  they  dou'i  care  to  have  it  noticed 
aiw:ivs." 

"  Nur  would  it  be  polite  or  gener- 
ous ;  but  til  is  of  yours  is  a  deep  grief, 
and  alarms  me  for  you.  Shall  I  teH 
you  how  1  knovv  ?  You  often  yawn 
and    oiten    sigh ;    when    these    two 


«IT   IS  KEVEK    TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


51 


things  come  tog:cther  at  your  sl^c  they 
are  sij^iis  of  ji  heavy  fjrief;  then  it 
comes  out  that  you  have  lost  your 
rehsh  for  tliin<:s  that  oiiee  pk-ascd 
you.  The  Hr>t  day  1  eanie  here,  you 
tohl  me  your  <rarih'n  lia<J  heen  nej^lect- 
cd  of  latf,  and  you  hhislicd  in  .saying 
80.  Old  Giles  and  others  asked  you, 
before  me,  why  you  had  ^ivcn  up 
visiting  them  ;  you  colored  and  looked 
down.  I  could  almost  have  told 
them,  hut  that  would  have  made  you 
uiicoinfortahle.  You  are  in  grief,  and 
no  common  grief." 

"  Nothing  worth  speaking  to  you 
ahout,  sir;  nothing  I  will  ever  com- 
plain of  to  any  one." 

"There  1  think  you  arc  wrong; 
religion  has  consoled  many  griefs ; 
great  griefs  admit  of  no  other  consola- 
•  tion.  The  sweetest  exercise  of  ray 
otiiee  is  to  comfort  the  heavy-hearted. 
Your  heart  is  heavy,  my  poor  lamb; 
tell  me,  what  is  it?" 

"  It  is  nothing,  sir,  that  you  would 
understand  ;  you  are  very  skilled,  and 
notice-taking,"as  well  as  good,  but  you 
are  not  a  woman,  and  you  must  ex- 
cuse me,  sir,  if  I  beg  you  not  to  ques- 
tion me  further  on  what  would  not 
interest  you." 

Mr.  Eden  looked  at  her  compas- 
sionately, and  merely  said  to  her 
again,  "  What  is  it?"  in  a  low  tone 
of  inetfal)le  tenderness. 

At  this  Susan  looked  in  a  scared 
manner  tiiis  way  and  that.  "  Sir,  do 
not  ask  me,  pray  do  not  ask  me  sc  " ; 
tlien  she  suddenly  lifted  her  hands, 
"  Mv  George  is  gone  across  the  sea  ! 
What  shall  1  do  !  what  shall  I  do  ! !  " 
and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  apron. 

This  burst  of  pure  nature  —  this 
simjde  cry  of  a  suffering  heart  —  was 
very  touching  ;  and  Mr.  Eden,  spite 
of  his  many  experiences,  was  not  a 
little  moved.  He  sat  silent,  looking 
on  her  as  an  angel  might  be  supposed 
to  look  upon  human  griefs,  and  as  he 
looked  on  her  various  expressions 
chased  one  another  across  that  elo- 
quent face.  Sweet  and  tender  memo- 
ries and  regrets  were  not  wanting 
amongst  them.    Alter  a  long  pause, 


he  spoke  in  a  tone  soft  and  gentle  as  a 
woman's,  and  at  first  in  a  voice  so 
faltering,  that  Susan,  though  her  face 
was  hidden,  felt  there  was  no  common 
.sympathy  there,  and  silently  put  out 
her  hand'  towards  it. 

He  murmuretl  consolation.  Ho 
said  many  genile,  soothing  things, 
lie  told  her  that  it  was  sad,  very  sad,  the 
immense  ocean  should  roil  between 
two  loving  hearts;  "But,"  said  lie, 
"  there  are  barriers  more  imjiassable 
tiian  the  sea.  Better  so  than  that  he 
should  be  here,  and  jealousy,  mis- 
trust, caprice,  or  even  temj)er  come 
between  you.  I  hope  he  will  come 
back  ;  I  think  he  will  come  back." 

She  blessed  him  for  saying  so. 
She  was  learning  to  believe  every- 
thing this  man  uttered. 

From  consolation  he  passed  to  ad- 
vice. 

"  You  must  do  the  exact  opposite 
of  what  vou  have  been  doing." 

"Must  I?" 

"  You  must  visit  those  poor  people ; 
ay,  more  than  ever  you  did  ;  hear  pa- 
tiently their  griefs ;  do  not  expect 
much  in  return,  neither  sympathy  nor 
a  great  deal  of  gratitude  ;  vulgar  sor- 
row is  seltish.  Do  it  for  God's  sake 
and  your  own,  single  heartedly.  Go 
to  the  school,  return  to  your  flowers, 
and  never  shun  innocent  society,  how- 
ever dull.  Milk  and  water  is  a  jioor 
thing,  but  it  is  a  diluent,  and  all  we 
can  do  just  now  is  to  dilute  your 
grief." 

He  made  her  promise  :  "  Next  time 
I  come  tell  me  all  about  you  and 
George.  Give  sorrow  words  ;  the 
grief  that  does  not  speak  wliispers  the 
o'erfraught  heart  and  bids  it  break." 

"  O,  that  is  a  true  word,"  sob'ied 
Susan,  "  that  is  very  true.  \Vhy,  a 
little  of  the  lead  seems  to  have  droj)pLd 
off  my  heart  now  I  have  spoken  to 
you,  sir." 

All  the  next  week  Susan  bore  up  as 
bravely  as  she  could,  and  did  what 
Mr.  Eden  had  baile  her,  and  jirofited 
by  his  example.  She  learned  to  draw 
from  others  the  full  history  of  their 
woes ;   and  she  fouud  that  many   a 


52 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


grief  bitter  as  her  own  had  passed 
over  the  dwellers  in  those  small  cot- 
taj^es  ;  it  did  her  some  little  }^ood  to 
discover  kindred  woes,  and  much 
goo'l  to  iio  out  of  herself  awhile  and 
pity  them. 

This  drooping  flower  recovered  her 
head  a  little,  l)ut  still  the  sweetest 
hour  in  all  the  working  days  of  the 
week  was  that  which  brought  John 
Meadows  to  talk  to  her  of  Australia. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

ScsAX  Merton  had  two  unfavored 
lovers ;  it  is  well  to  observe  bow  dif- 
ferently these  two  behaved.  William 
Fielding  stayed  at  home,  threw  his 
whole  soul  into  his  farm,  and  seldom 
went  near  the  woman  he  loved  but 
had  no  right  to  love.  Meadows  dan- 
gk'd  about  the  flame ;  ashamed  and 
afraid  to  own  his  love,  he  fed  it  to 
a  prodigious  height  by  encouraging 
it  and  not  expressing  it.  William 
Fielding  was  moody  and  cross  and 
sad  enough  at  times  ;  but  at  others  a 
little  spark  ignited  inside  his  heart, 
and  a  warm  glow  ditfiised  itself  from 
that  small.'point  over  all  his  being. 
I  think  this  spark  igniting  was  an 
approving  conscience  commencing  its 
up-hill  work  of  making  a  disappointed 
lover  hut  honest  man  content. 

Meadows,  on  his  part,  began  to  feel 
content  an<l  a  certain  complacency 
take  the  place  of  his  stormy  feelings. 
Twit-e  a  week  he  passed  two  hours 
with  Susan.  She  always  greeted  him 
with  a  smile,  and  naturally  showed 
an  innocent  satisfaction  in  these  vis- 
its manau'cd  as  they  were  with  so 
much  art  and  self-restraint.  On  Sun- 
day, too,  he  had  always  a  word  or 
two  with  her. 

Meadows,  though  an  observer  of 
religious  forms,  had  the  character  of 
a  very  worldly  man,  and  Susan 
thought  it  hi<::hly  to  his  credit  that  he 
came  six  miles  to  hear  Mr.  Eden. 

"  But,   Mr.  Meadows,  your   poor 


horse,"  said  she,  one  day.  "  I  doubt 
it  is  no  Sabbath  to  him,  now." 

"  No  more  it  is,"  said  Meadows, 
as  if  a  new  light  came  to  him  from 
Susan.  The  next  Sunday  he  ap- 
peared in  dusty  shoes,  instead  of  top- 
boots. 

Susan  looked  down  at  them,  and 
saw,  and  said,  nothing,  but  she 
smiled.  Her  love  of  goodness  and 
her  vanity  were  both  gratiticd  a  lit- 
tle. 

Meadows  did  not  stop  there ; 
wherever  Susan  went  he  followed 
modestly  in  her  steps.  Nor  was  this 
mere  cunning.  He  loved  her  quite 
well  enough  to  imitate  her,  and  try 
and  feel  with  her;  and  he  began  to 
be  kinder  to  the  poor,  and  to  feel 
good  all  over,  and  comfortable.  He 
felt  as  if  he  had  not  an  enemy  in  the 
world.  One  day  in  Farnborough  he 
saw  William  Fielding  on  the  other 
side  the  street.  Susan  Merton  did 
not  love  William,  therefore  Aleadows 
had  no  cause  to  hate  him.  He  re- 
membered William  had  asked  a  loan 
of  him  and  he  liad  declined.  He 
crossed  over  to  him. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  William." 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"  You  were  speaking  to  me  one 
day  about  a  trifling  loan.  I  could 
not  manage  it  just  then,  but  now —  " 
Here  Meadows  paused.  He  hail  been 
on  the  point  of  offering  the  money, 
but  suddenly,  by  one  of  those  in- 
stincts of  foresight  these  able  men 
have,  he  turned  it  off  thus  :  "  but  I 
know  who  will.  You  go  to  Lawyer 
Crawley  :  he  lends  money  to  people 
of  credit." 

"  I  know  he  docs  ;  but  he  won't 
lend  it  me." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  does  not  like  us.  He  is  a 
poor,  sneaking  creature,  and  my 
brother  George,  he  cauixht  Crawley 
selling  up  some  poor  fellow  or  o;her, 
and  they  had  words ;  leastways  it 
went  beyond  words,  I  fancy.  I  don't 
know  the  rights  of  it,  but  George  was 
a  little  rough  with  him,  by  all  ac- 
counts." 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


53 


"  And  what  has  that  to  do  with 
this  ?  "  said  the  man  of  business, 
coolly. 

"  VVhy,  I  am  George's  broth- 
er." 

''And  if  you  were  George  himself, 
and  he  saw  his  way  to  make  a  shil- 
ling out  of  you,  he  would  do  ir, 
would  n't  he  ?  There,  you  go  to 
Crawley,  and  ask  him  to  lend  you 
one  hundred  pounds,  and  he  will 
lend  it  you,  only  he  will  make  you 
pay  iieavy  interest,  heavier  than  I 
should,  you  know,  if  I  could  manage 
it  myself." 

"  O,  I  don't  care,"  said  simple 
William ;  "  thank  you  kindly,  Mr. 
Meadows  ">and  off  he  went  to  Craw- 
ley. 

He  found  that  worthy  in  his  of- 
fice. Crawley,  who  instantly  guessed 
his  errand,  and  had  no  instructions 
from  Meadows,  promised  himself  the 
satisfaction  of  refusing  the  young 
man.  He  asked  with  a  cringing 
manner  and  a  treacherous  smile, 
"  What  security,  sir  "?  " 

Poor  William  higgled  and  ham- 
meretl,  and  offered  first  one  thing, 
which  was  blandly  declined  for  this 
reason ;  then  another,  which  was 
blandly  declined  for  that;  Crawley 
drinking  deep  draughts  of  mean  ven- 
geance all  the  while  from  the  young 
man's  shame  and  mortification,  when 
the  door  opened,  a  man  walked  in, 
and  gave  Crawley  a  note,  and  van- 
ished. Crawley  opened  the  note ;  it 
contained  a  check  drawn  by  Mead- 
ows, and  these  Avords  :  "  Lend  W.  F. 
the  money  at  ten  per  cent  on  his  ac- 
ceptance of  your  draft  at  two  months." 
Crawley  put  the  note  and  check  in 
his  pocket. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he  to  William, 
"  you  stay  here,  and  I  will  see  if  I 
have  irot  a  loose  hundred  in  the  bank 
to  spare."  He  went  over  to  the  bank, 
caslicit  tlie  (heck,  drcvv  a  bill  of  ex- 
change at  two  montlis' date,  deducted 
the  interest  and  stamp,  and  William 
accepted  it,  and  Crawley  bowed  him 
out,  cringinLS  smiling,  and  secretly 
bhuotuig  poisoned  arrows  out  of  his 


venomous  eye  in  the  direction  of  Wil- 
liam's heels. 

William  thanked  him  warmly. 

This  loan  made  him  feel  happy. 

He  had  paid  his  brother's  debt  to 
the  landlord  by  sacrificing  a  large 
portion  of  his  grain  at  a  time  the  price 
was  low  ;  and  now  he  was  so  cramped 
he  had  much  ado  to  pay  his  labor, 
when  this  loan  came.  The  very  next 
day  he  bought  several  hogs, — hogs, 
as  George  had  sarcastically  observed, 
were  William  Fielding's  hobby;  he 
hud  confidence  in  that  animal.  Po- 
tatoes and  pigs,  versus  sheep  and  tur- 
nips, was  the  theory  of  William 
Fielding. 

Now  the  good  understanding  be- 
tween William  and  Meadows  was  not 
to  last  long.  William,  though  he  was 
too  wise  to  visit  Grassmcre  Farm 
much,  was  mindful  of  his  promise  to 
George,  and  used  to  make  occasional 
inquiries  after  Susan.  He  heard  that 
Meadows  called  at  the  farm  twice  a 
week,  and  he  thought  it  a  little  odd. 
He  pondered  on  it,  but  did  not  quite 
go  the  length  of  suspecting  anything, 
still  less  of  suspecting  Susan.  Still 
he  thought  it  odd,  but  he  thought  it 
odder  when  one  market-day  old  Isaac 
Levi  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  the  promise 
you  made  to  the  lion-hearted  young 
man,  your  brother  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ask  that  to  affront  me  ?  " 

"You  never  visit  her;  and  others 
are  not  so  neglectful." 

"Who?" 

"  Go  this  evening  and  you  will  see." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,  and  1  will  soon  see 
if  there  is  anything  in  it,"  said  Wil- 
liam, not  stopping  even  to  inquire  why 
the  old  Jew  took  all  this  interest  in 
the  affair. 

That  evening,  as  Meadows  was  in 
the  middle  of  a  description  of  the  town 
of  Sydney,  Susan  started  up.  "  Why, 
here  is  William  Fielding  !  "  and  she 
ran  out  and  welcomed  him  in  with 
much  cordiality,  perhaps  with  some 
excess  of  cordiality. 

William  came  in,  and  saluted  the 
farmer  and  Meadows  in  his  dogged 


54 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


way.  Meadows  was  not  best  pleased, 
but  kept  liis  temper  admiral)ly,  and, 
leaviii}^  Australia,  enga<,^ed  both  the 
farmers  in  a  conversation  on  home 
topics.  Susan  looketl  disappointed. 
Meadows  was  content  witii  tliat,  and 
the  party  separated  half  an  hour  sooner 
than  usual. 

The  next  market-eA'cning  in  strolls 
William  ;  Meadows  again  plays  the 
same  game.  This  time  Susan  could 
h:\rdly  restrain  her  temper.  She  did 
not  want  to  hear  about  tlie  Grassmere 
acres,  and  "  The  Grove,"  and  oxen  and 
hogs,  but  about  something  that  mat- 
tered to  George. 

But  when,  the  next  market-evening, 
William  arrived  before  Mr.  Meadows, 
she  was  downright  provoked,  and  gave 
him  short  answers,  which  raised  his 
suspicions  and  made  him  think  he 
had  done  wisely  in  coming.  This 
evening  Susan  excused  herself  and 
went  to  bed  early. 

She  was  in  Farnborough  the  next 
market-day,  and  William  met  her  and 
said  :  — 

*  "  1  '11  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you 
to-night,  Susan,  if  you  are  agreea- 
ble." 

"  William,"  said  Susan,  sharply, 
"  what  makes  you  always  come  to  us 
on  market-day  1  " 

"  1  don't  know.  What  makes  Mr. 
Meadows  come  that  day  ?  " 

"  Because  he  passes  our  house  to 
go  to  his  own,  I  suppose ;  but  you  live 
but  two  miles  off :  you  can  come  any 
day  that  you  are  minded." 

"  Should  I  be  welcome,  Susan  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think.  Will  ?  Speak 
your  mind  ;  I  don't  understand 
you." 

"  Seems  to  me  I  was  not  very  wel- 
come last  time." 

"  If  I  thought  that,  I  wouldn't  come 
again,"  replied  Susan,  as  sharp  as  a 
needle.  Then,  instantly  repenting  a 
little,  she  explained,  "  You  are  wel- 
come to  me,  Will,  and  you  know  that 
as  well  as  I  do,  but  I  want  you  to 
come  some  other  evening,  if  it  is  all 
the  same  to  you." 

"  Why  ?  " 


"  Why  ?  because  I  am  dull  other 
evenings,  and  it  would  be  nice  to  have 
a  chat  with  vou." 

"  Would  It,  Susan  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  would  ;  but  that 
evening  I  have  company,  —  and  he 
talks  to  me  of  Australia." 

"Nothing  else?"  sneered  the  un- 
lucky William. 

Susan  gave  him  such  a  look. 

"  And  that  interests  me  more  than 
anything  you  can  say  to  me,  —  if  you 
won't  be  offended,"  snapped  Susan. 

William  bit  his  lip. 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't  come  this 
evening,  eh,  Susan  ?  " 

"  No,  don't,  that  i»  a  good  soul.** 

*'  Les  femmes  sont  impitoyables 
pour  ceux  qu'clles  n'aiment  pas." 
This  is  a  harsh  saying,  and,  of  course, 
not  pure  truth  ;  but  there  is  a  deal  of 
truth  in  it. 

William  was  proud  ;  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  iiis  own  love  for  her  made 
him  less  able  to  persist,  for  he  knew 
she  might  be  so  ungenerous  as  to  re- 
tort if  lie  angered  her  too  far.  So  he 
altered  the  direction  of  liis  battery. 
He  planted  himself  at  the  gate  of 
Grassmere  Farm,  and  as  Meadows  got 
off  his  horse  requested  a  few  words 
with  him.  Meadows  ran  him  over 
with  one  lightning  glance,  and  then 
the  whole  man  was  on  the  defensive. 
William  l)luntly  opened  the  affair. 

"  You  heard  me  promise  to  look  on 
Susan  as  my  sister,  and  keep  her  as  she 
is  for  my  brother  that  is  far  away." 

"  I  heard  you,  Mr.  William,"  said 
Meadows,  with  a  smile  that  provoked 
William  as  the  artful  one  intended  it 
should. 

"  You  come  here  too  often,  sir." 

"  Too  often  for  who  ?  " 

"  Too  often  for  me,  too  often  for 
George,  too  often  for  the  girl  herself. 
I  won't  have  George's  sweetheart 
talked  about." 

"  You  are  the  first  to  talk  about 
her  ;  if  tliere  's  scandal  it  is  of  your 
making." 

"  I  won't  have  it,  —  at  a  word." 

Meadows  called  out.  "  Miss  Mer- 
ton,  will  you  step  here  ?  " 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


55 


William  was  astonished  at  his  au- 
dacity ;  lie  did  not  know  his  man. 

kSusau  op(^ned  the  parlor  window. 
"  AV^hat  is  it,  Mr.  Meadows  ?  " 

"  Will  you  step  here,  if  you 
please  1 "  Susan  came.  '*  Here  is  a 
younjj:  man  tells  me  1  must  not  call 
on  your  father  or  you." 

"  I  say  you  must  not  do  it  often 
enough  to  make  her  talked  of." 

"  Who  dares  to  talk  of  me  ?  "  cried 
Susan,  scarlet. 

"'  Nobody,  Miss  Merton.  Nobody 
but  the  young  man  himself;  and  so 
I  told  him.  Is  your  fatlier  witliin  1 
Then  I'll  step  in  and  speak  with  him, 
any  way."  And  the  sly  Meadows 
vanished  to  give  Susan  an  opportu- 
nity of  quarrelling  with  William 
while  she  was  hot. 

"  I  don't  know  how  yon  came  to 
take  such  liberties  with  me,"  began 
Susan,  quite  pale  now  with  anger. 

"  It  is  for  George's  sake,"  said 
William,  doggedly. 

"  Did  George  bid  you  insult  my 
friends  and  me  1  I  would  not  put 
up  wirh  it  from  George  himself,  much 
less  from  you.  I  shall  write  to 
George,  and  ask  him  whether  he 
wishes  me  to  be  your  slave." 

"  Don't  ye  do  so.  Don't  set  my 
brother  against  me,"  remonstrated 
William,  ruofully. 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to 
go  h6me  and  mind  your  farm,  and 
get  a  sweetheart  for  yourself,  and 
then  you  won't  trouble  your  head 
about  me  more  than  you  have  any 
business  to  do." 

This  last  cut  wounded  William  to 
the  quick, 

"  Good  evening,  Susan." 

"  Good  evening." 

"  Won't  you  sh-.ike  hands  ?  " 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I 
said  no  !  But  I  won't  make  you  of 
so  mu(  h  importance  as  jon  want  to 
be.  There  !  And  come  again  as 
sooM  ns  ever  you  can  treat  my  friends 
wiih  respect." 

'  I  slia'n't  trouble  you  again  for  a 
while,"  said  William,  sadly.  "  Good 
by.     God  bless  you,  Susan,  dear." 


When  he  was  gone  the  tears  came 
into  Susan's  eyes,  but  she  was  bit- 
terly indignant  with  him  for  making 
a  scene  about  her,  which  a  really 
modest  girl  hates.  On  her  reaching 
the  parlor,  Mr.  Meadows  was  gone 
too,  and  th.it  incensed  her  still  more 
against  William.  "  Mr.  Meadows  is 
atlronted,  no  doubt,"  said  she,  "  and 
of  course  he  would  not  come  here  to 
be  talked  of;  he  would  not  like  that 
any  more  than  I,  A  man  that  comes 
here  to  us  out  of  pure  good-nature 
and  nothing  else." 

The  next  mnrket-day  the  deep 
Meadows  did  not  come :  Susan  missed 
him  and  his  talk  ;  she  had  few  pleas.- 
ures,  and  this  was  one  of  them  ;  but 
the  next  after  he  came  as  usual,  and 
Susan  did  not  conceal  her  satisftic- 
tion.  She  wms  too  shy  and  he  too# 
wise  to  allude  to  William's  inter- 
ference. They  both  ignored  the 
poor  fellow  and  his  honest,  clumsy 
attempt. 

William,  discomfited  but  not  con- 
vinced, determined  to  keep  his  eye 
upon  them  both.  "  I  swore  it  and 
1 11  do  it,"  said  this  honest  fellow. 
"  But  I  can't  face  her  tongue :  it  goes 
through  me*  like  a  pitchfork  ;  hut  as 
for  him  —  "  And  he  clenched  his  fist 
most  significantly  ;  then  he  revolved 
one  or  two  plans  in  his  head,  and  re- 
jected them  each  in  turn.  At  last  a 
thought  struck  him.  "  Mr.  Levi ! 
he  'twas  that  put  me  on  my  guard. 
I'll  tell  him."  Accordingly  he  re- 
counted the  whole  affair  and  his  fail- 
ure to  Mr.  Levi.  The  old  man  smiled. 
"  You  are  no  match  for  either  of  these. 
You  have  given  the  maiden  offence, 
just  offence." 

"  Just  offence,  Mr.  Levi !  Now 
don't  ye  say  so  :  why,  how  1  " 

"  By  your  unskilfulne.^s,  my  son." 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  say 
that,  sir,  but  t  can  tell  you  women 
are  kittle  folk,  —  manage  them  who 
can.  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  I'm 
sure." 

"  Stay  at  home  and  till  the  land," 
replied  Isaac,  somewhat  dryly.  "I 
will  go  to  Grassmere  Farm." 


56 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Vou  poinn;  to  Iciue  ns,  Mr.  Eden, 
find  goin;;  to  live  in  :i  jail  ?  O  Mr. 
Eden,  I  can't  hear  to  think  tjf  it. 
You  to  he  coo{)ed  up  tliere  iimonj^ 
thieves  and  rogues,  and  perhaps  mur- 
derers." 

"  Thoy  have  the  more  need  of  me." 

"  And  you,  who  love  the  air  of  heav- 
en so  ;  why,  sir,  1  seo'you  take  off 
your  very  hat  at  times  to  enjoy  it  as 
>ou  are  walking  along  ;  you  would  I)u 
choked  in  a  prison.  13esides,  sir,  it  is 
only  little  j)arsons  that  go  there." 

"  What  are  little  pardons  ?  " 

"  Tho>e  that  are  not  clever  enough 
or  good  enough  to  he  hishops  and 
vicars,  and  so  forth;  not  such  ones 
as  you." 

"  How  odd  !  This  is  exactly  what 
the  Devil  whispered  in  my  ear  when 
the  question  was  first  raised,  hut  I  did 
not  expect  to  lind  you  on  his  side." 

"  Did  n't  you,  sir  ?  Ah  !  well,  if  it 
is  your  duty  I  know  I  may  as  well  hold 
my  tongue.  And  then  such  as  you 
are  not  like  other  folk  ;  you  come  like 
sunshine  to  some  dark  place,  and, 
when  you  have  warmed  it  and  lighted 
it  a  bit.  Heaven,  that  sent  you,  will 
have  you  go  and  shine  elsewhere.  You 
came  here,  sir.  you  waked  up  the  im- 
])eniteiit  folk  in  this  village,  and  com- 
forted the  distressed,  and  relieved  the 
poor,  and  you  have  saved  one  poor, 
l)roken-heart<d  girl  from  despair,  from 
niailne>s  helike  ;  and  now  we  are  not 
to  be  selfish,  we  must  not  hold  you 
hack,  hut  let  you  run  the  race  that 
is  set  before  you,  and  remember  your 
words  and  your  deeds,  and  your  dear 
f  ice  ajid  voice  to  the  last  hour  of  onr 
lives." 

"And  tiive  me  the  benefit  of  your 
]  rayers,  little  sister,  do  not  deny  me 
them  ;  your  prayers  that  I  may  per- 
si'vcre  to  the  end.  Ay  !  it  is  too  true, 
Susan  ;  in  this  world  there  is  nothing 
but  meeting  and  parting;  it  is  sad: 
we  have  need  to  be  stout-hearted, — 
stouter-hearted  tlian  you  are.  But  it 
will  not  always  be  so  :  a  few  short 
years  and  we   who  have  fouyht  the 


good  fight  sliall  meet  to  i)art  no  more, 
—  to  part  no  more,  —  to  part  no 
more  !  " 

As  he  repeated  these  words  half 
mechanically,  Susan  could  >ee  that 
he  had  suddeidy  become  scaice  (on- 
scious  of  her  presence  :  the  light  of 
other  days  was  in  his  eye;  and  his  lips 
movetl  inarticulately.  'Delicate-mind- 
ed Susan  left  him,  and  with  the  aid  of 
the  servant  brought  out  the  tea-things, 
and  set  the  little  table  on  the  gr.T>3 
square  in  her  gard(  n,  where  you  toiild 
see  the  western  sun.  And  then  she 
came  for  Mr.  Eden. 

"  Come,  sir,  there  is  not  a  breath 
of  wind  this  evening,  and  so  the  tea- 
things  are  set  in  the  air.  I  know  ycu 
like  that." 

The  little  party  sat  down  in  the 
open  air.  The  butter,  churned  by 
Susan,  was  solidified  cream.  The 
bread  not  very  white,  but  home-made, 
juicy,  and  sweet  as  milk.  The  tea 
seemed  to  difi^use  a  more  flowery  fra- 
grance out  of  doors  than  it  does  in, 
and  to  mix  fraternally  with  the  hun- 
dred odors  of  Susan's  flowers  that 
now  perfumed  the  air,  and  the  whole 
innocent  meal,  imlike  coar^e  dinner 
or  supper,  mingled  harmoniously  with 
the  scene,  with  the  balmy  air,  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  bright  emerald  grass 
sprinklt  d  with  gold  by  the  descending 
sun.  Farmer  Merton  soon  left  them, 
and  then  Susan  went  in  and  brought 
out  pen  and  ink  and  a  large  sheet  of 
paper. 

Susan  sat  apart,  working  '\\ith  her 
needle,  Mr.  Eden  sketched  a  sermon 
and  sipped  Ins  tea,  and  now  and  then 
purred  three  words  to  Susan,  who 
]nirred  as  many  in  rejily.  And  yet 
over  this  pleasant  scene  there  hung  a 
gentle  sadness,  felt  most  by  Susan  as 
with  head  bent  down  she  plied  her 
needle  in  silence.  "  He  will  not  sit 
in  my  garden  many  times  more,  nor 
write  many  more  notes  of  sermons 
under  my  eye,  nor  preach  to  us  all 
many  more  sermons  ;  and  then  he  is 
going  to  a  nasty  jnil,  where  he  won't 
have  his  health  1  'm  doubtful.  And 
then  1  'm  fearful  he  wou't  be  comfort- 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


57 


able  in  bis  house,  with  nobody  to  take 
care  of  him  that  really  cares  tor  him  ; 
servants  soon  find  out  where  there  is 
no  woman  to  scold  them  as  should  be, 
and  he  is  not  the  man  to  take  his 
own  part  against  them."  And  Susan 
sif^hod  at  the  domestic  prospects  of 
her  friend,  and  her  needle  went  slower 
and  slower. 

These  reflections  were  interrupted 
by  the  servant,  who  announced  a  vis- 
itor. Susan  laid  down  her  work  and 
went  into  the  parlor,  and  there  found 
Isaac  Levi.  She  greeted  him  with 
open  arms  and  heightened  color,  and 
never  for  a  moment  suspected  that  he 
was  come  there  full  of  suspicions  of  her. 

After  the  first  greeting  a  few  things 
of  little  importance  were  said  on  either 
side.  Isaac,  watching  to  see  whether 
Mr.  Meadows  had  succeeded  in  sup- 
planting George,  and  too  cunning  to 
lead  the  conversation  that  way  him- 
self, lay  patiently  in  wait  like  a  sly 
old  fox.  However,  he  soon  found  he 
was  playing  the  politician  superflu- 
ously, for  Susan  laid  bare  her  whole 
heart  to  the  simplest  capacity.  In- 
stead of  waiting  for  the  skilful,  subtle, 
almost  invisible  cross-examination, 
which  the  descendant  of  Maimonides 
was  preparing  for  her,  she  answered 
all  his  questions  before  they  were 
asked.  It  came  out  that  her  thought 
by  day  and  night  was  George,  that  she 
had  been  very  dull,  and  very  unhappy. 
"  But  I  am  better  now,  Mr.  Levi,  thank 
God :  He  has  been  very  good  to  me. 
He  has  sent  me  a  friend,  a  clergyman, 
or  an  angel  in  the  dress  of  one,  I  some- 
times think.  He  knows  all  about  me 
and  George,  sir;  so  that  makes  me 
feel  quite  at  home  with  him,  and  I 
can  —  And  now  Mr.  Meadows  stops 
an  hour  on  market-days,  and  he  is  so 
kind  as  to  tell  me  all  about  Australia, 
and  you  may  guess  I  like  to  hear 
about —  Mr.  Levi,  come  and  see  us 
some  market-evening.  Mr.  Meadows 
is  capital  conipany  ;  to  hear  him  you 
Avould  think  he  had  passed  half'his 
life  in  Australia.  Were  you  ever  in 
Australia,  sir,  if  you  please?" 

"  Never,  but  I  shall." 
3* 


"Shall  you,  sir?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  old  Jew  is  not  to  die  till 
he  has  drifted  to  every  part  in  the 
globe.  In  my-  old  days  I  shall  go 
back  towards  the  East,  and  there, 
methinks,  I  shall  lay  these  wandering 
bones." 

"  0  sir,  inquire  after  George,  and 
show  him  some  kindness,  and  don'c 
see  him  wronged,  he  is  very  simple. 
No  !  no  !  no  !  you  are  too  old ;  you 
must  not  cross  the  seas  at  your  age ; 
don't  think  of  it ;  stay  quiet  at  home 
till  you  leave  us  for  a  better  world."  , 

"  At  home  !  "  said  the  old  man,  sor- 
rowfully ;  "I  have  no  home.  I  had 
a  home,  but  the  man  Meadows  has 
driven  me  out  of  it." 

"  Mr.  Meadows  !    La,  sir,  as  how  ?  " 

"  He  bought  the  house  I  live  in, 
and  next  Lady-day,  as  the  woman- 
worshipper  calls  it,  he  turns  me  to  the 
door." 

"  But  he  won't  if  you  ask  him.  He 
is  a  very  good-natured  man.  You  go 
and  ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  let  you 
stay ;  he  won't  gainsay  you,  you  take 
my  word." 

"  Susannah  !  "  replied  Isaac,  "you 
are  good  and  innocent  ;  you  cannot 
fathom  the  hearts  of  the  wicked.  This 
Meadows  is  a  man  of  Belial.  I  did 
beseech  him ;  I  bowed  these  gray  hairs 
to  him,  to  let  me  staj-^  in  the  house 
where  I  lived  so  happily  with  m}"- 
Leah  twenty  years,  where  my  children 
were  born  to  me  and  died  from  me, 
where  my  Leah  consoled  me  for  their 
loss  awhile,  but  took  no  comfort  her- 
self, and  left  me  too." 

"  Poor  old  man !  and  what  did  he 
say  ?  " 

"  He  refused  me  with  harsh  words. 
To  make  the  refusal  more  bitter,  he 
insulted  my  religion  and  my  much- 
enduring  tribe,  and  at  the  day  ap- 
pointed he  turns  me  at  threescore 
years  and  ten  adrift  upon  the  earth." 

"  Eh  !  dear  !  how  hard  the  world 
is  !  "  cried  Susan  ;  "  I  had  a  great 
respect  for  Mr.  Meadows,  but  now,  if 
he  comes  here,  I  know  I  shall  shut 
the  door  in  his  face." 

Isaac  reflected.      This  would  not 


58 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


have  suited  a  certain  subtle  Eastern 
plan  of  vcnp^eiince  he  had  formed. 
"  No  !  "  said  tie,  "  that  is  folly.  Take 
not  another  man's  (luarrel  on  your 
shoulders.  A  Jew  knows  how  to  re- 
ven<;e  himself  without  your  aid." 

So  tlien  her  in(iuisitor  was  satisfied  ; 
AustrMJia  really  was  the  topic  that 
made  Meadows  welcome  :  he  departed, 
revolving,'  Oriental  venj^eance. 

Smooth  Meadows  at  his  next  visit, 
removed  the  impression  excited  against 
him,  and  easily  persuaded  Susan  that 
Levi  was  more  in  the  wrong  than  he  ; 
in  which  opinion  she  stood  Urm  till 
Levi's  next  visit. 

At  Inst  she  gave  up  all  hope  of  di- 
judicating,  and  determined  to  end  the 
matter  by  bringing  them  together  and 
making  them  friends. 

And  now  approached  the  day  of 
Mr.  Eden's  departure.  The  last  ser- 
mon, —  the  last  quiet  tea  in  the  gar- 
den. On  Monday  afternoon  he  was 
to  go  to  Oxford,  and  the  following 
week  to  his  new  sphere  of  duties, 
which  he  had  selected  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  some  hundred  persons  who 
knew  him  superficially,  —  knew  him 
by  his  face,  by  his  pretensions  as  a 
scholar,  a  divine,  and  a  gentleman  of 
descent  and  independent  means,  but 
had  not  sounded  his  depths. 

All  Sunday  Susan  sought  every 
opportunity  of  conversing  with  him 
even  on  indifferent  matters.  Slie 
was  garnering  up  his  words,  his  very 
syllables,  and  twenty  times  in  the  day 
he  saw  her  eyes  fill  with  tears  apropos 
of  such  observations  as  this  :  — 

"  We  shall  have  a  nice  warm  after- 
noon, Susan." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  so,  sir;  the 
blackbirds  are  giving  a  chirrup  or  two." 

All  Monday  forenoon  Susan  was 
very  busy.  There  was  l)read  to  be 
baked  and  butter  to  be  made.  Mr. 
Eden  must  take  some  of  each  to  Ox- 
ford. They  would  keep  Grassmere 
in  his  mind  a  day  or  two  longer  :  and, 
besides,  they  were  wholesome,  and  he 
was  fond  of  them.  Then  theie  was 
his  linen  to  be  looked  over,  and  but- 
tons to  be  sewed  on  for  the  last  time. 


Then  he  must  eat  a  good  dinner  be* 
fore  he  went,  so  then  he  would  want 
nothing  but  his  tea  when  he  got  to 
Oxford  ;  and  the  bread  would  he  fit 
to  eat  by  tea-time,  especially  a  small 
crusty  cake  she  had  made  for  that 
purpose.  So  with  all  this  Susan  was 
energetic,  almost  lively  ;  and  even 
when  it  was  all  done,  and  they  were 
at  dinner,  her  principal  anxiety 
seemed  to  be  that  he  should  cat  more 
than  usual  because  he  was  jioing  a 
journey.  But  when  all  bustle  of  ev- 
ery kind  was  over,  and  the  actual 
hour  of  parting  came,  she  suddenly 
burst  out  crying  before  her  father  and 
the  servant,  who  bade  her  not  take  on, 
and  instantly  burst  out  crying  too, 
from  vague  sympathy. 

The  old  farmer  ordered  the  girl  out 
of  the  room  directly,  and  without  the 
least  emotion  proceeded  to  make  ex- 
cuses to  Mr.  Eden  for  Susan. 

"  A  young  maid's  eyes  soon  flow 
over,"  etc. 

Mr.  Eden  interrupted  him. 

"  Such  tears  as  these  do  not  scald 
the  heart.  I  feel  this  separation  from 
my  dear  kind  friend  as  much  as  she 
feels  it.  But  I  am  more  than  twice 
her  age,  and  have  passed  through  — 
I  should  feel  it  bitterly  if  I  thought 
our  friendship  and  Christian  love  were 
to  end  because  our  path  of  duty  lies 
separate.  But  no,  Susan,  still  look 
on  me  as  your  adviser,  your  elder 
brother,  and  in  some  measure  your 
pastor.  I  shall  write  to  you,  and 
watch  over  you,  though  at  some  dis- 
tance, —  and  not  so  great  a  distance. 
I  am  always  well  horsed,  and  I  knov; 
you  Avill  give  me  a  bed  at  Grassmere 
once  a  quarter." 

*'  That  we  will,"  cried  the  farmer, 
warmly,  "  and  proud  and  hapjw  to 
see  you  cross  the  thresliold,  sir." 

"  And,  Mr.  Merton,  my  new  house 
is  large.  I  shall  be  alone  in  it.  When- 
ever you  and  Miss  Merton  have  noth- 
ing better  to  do,  pray  come  and  visit 
me.  I  will  make  you  as  uncomfort- 
able as  you  have  made  me  comfort* 
able,  but  as  welcome  as  you  have 
made  me  welcome." 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


59 


"  We  will  come,  sir  !  we  will  come 
some  one  of  these  days,  and  thank  you 
for  the  honor." 

So  Mr.  Eden  went  from  Grass- 
mere  villafre  and  Grassmere  farm- 
house, —  but  lie  left  neither  as  he 
found  them ;  fifty  years  hence  an  old 
man  and  woman  or  two  will  speak  to 
their  ^grandchildren  of  "  the  Sower," 
and  Susan  Merton  (if  she  is  on  earth 
then),  of  "  the  good  Thysician."  She 
may  well  do  so,  for  it  was  no  vulgar 
service  he  rendered  her,  —  no  vulgar 
malady  he  checked. 

Not  every  good  man  could  have 
penetrated  so  quickly  a  coy  woman's 
grief,  nor,  the  wound  found,  have 
soothed  her  fever  and  deadened  her 
smart  with  a  hand  as  firm  as  gentle, 
as  gentle  as  firm. 

Such  men  are  human  suns  !  They 
brighten  and  warm  wherever  they 
pass.  Fools  count  them  mad,  till 
death  wrenches  open  foolish  eyes ; 
they  are  not  often  called  "  my 
Lord,"  *  nor  sung  by  poets  when 
they  die;  but  the  hearts  they  heal, 
and  their  own,  are  their  rich  reward 
on  earth,  — and  their  place  is  high  in 
heaven. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Mr.  Meadows  lived  in  a  house 
that  he  hud  conquered  three  years 
ago  by  lending  money  on  it  at  fair 
interest  in  his  own  name.  Mr.  Da- 
vid Hall,  the  proprietor,  paid  neither 
principal  nor  interest.  Mr.  Mead- 
ows expected  this  contingency,  and 
therefore  lent  liis  money.  He  threat- 
ened to  foreclose,  and  sell  the  house 
under  the  hammer  ;  to  avoid  this,  Mr. 
Hall  said,  "  Pay  yourself  the  interest 
by  living  rent-free  in  the  house  till 
such  time  as  my  old  aunt  dies,  drat 
her,  and  then  I  'U  pay  your  money, 
I  wish  I  had  never  borrowed  it." 
Meadows  acquiesced  with  feigned  re- 
luctance. "  Well,  if  I  must,  1  must ; 
but  let  me  have  my  money  as  soon 

*  Sometimes  thought. 


as  you  can," — (aside)  "I  will  end 
my  days  in  this  house." 

It  had  many  conveniences;  among 
the  rest  a  very  long,  though  narrow 
garden  enclosed  within  liigli  walls; 
at  the  end  of  the  garden  was  a  door, 
which  anybody  could  open  from  the 
inside,  but  from  the  outside  only  by 
a  Bramah  key. 

The  access  to  this  part  of  the 
premises  was  by  a  short,  narrow 
lane,  very  dirty,  and  very  little  used, 
because,  whatever  might  have  been 
in  old  times,  it  led  now  from  no- 
where to  nowhere.  Meadows  re- 
ceived by  this  entrance  one  or  two 
persons  whom  he  never  allowed  to 
desecrate  his  knocker.  At  the  head 
of  these  furtive  visitors  was  Peter 
Crawley,  attorney-at-law,  a  gentle- 
man who,  every  New-Year's  eve, 
used  to  say  to  himself,  wiih  a  look 
of  gratified  amazement,  "  Another 
year  gone,  and  I  not  struck  off  the 
rolls  !  !  !  " 

Peter  had  a  Bramah  key  intrusted 
to  him. 

His  visits  to  Mr.  Meadows  were 
conducted  tlius  :  he  opened  the  gar- 
den gate,  and  looked  up  at  the  win- 
dow in  a  certain  passage.  This  pas- 
sage was  not  accessible  to  the  servants, 
and  the  Avindow  with  its  blinds  was  a 
signal-book. 

Blinds  up,  Mr.  Meadows  out. 

White  blind  down,  Mr.  Meadows  in. 

Blue  blind  down,  Mr.  Meadows  in, 
but  not  alone. 

The  same  key  that  opened  the  gar- 
den door  opened  a  door  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  which  led  direct  to  the 
passage  above  mentioned.  On  the 
window-seat  lay  a  peculiar  whistle 
constructed  to  imitate  the  whining  of 
a  dog.  Then  Meadows  would  go  to 
his  book-shelves,  which  lined  one 
side  of  the  room,  and,  pressing  a  hid- 
den spring,  open  a  door  that  nobody 
ever  suspected,  for  the  books  came 
along  with  it.  To  provide  for  every 
contingency,  there  was  a  small  secret 
opening  in  another  part  of  the 
shelves,  by  which  Meadows  could 
shoot  unobserved  a  note  or  the  like 


CO 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


into  the  passage,  and  so  pivc  Crawley 
instructions  without  disuiissing  a  vis- 
itor, if  he  had  one. 

Meadows  provided  ajrainst  surprise 
and  discovery.  His  study  hud  double 
doors  :  neither  of  thcin  could  be  opened 
from  the  outsiile.  His  visitors  or  ser- 
vinits  must  rap  with  an  iron  knocker ; 
and,  whilst  Meadows  went  to  open, 
the  secret  visitor  stepped  into  the  })as- 
sajre,  and  shut  the  books  behind  him. 

It  was  a  room  that  looked  business. 
One  side  was  almost  i)apered  with 
ordnance  maps  of  this  and  an  adjoin- 
ing county.  Pij^eon-holes  abonnded 
too,  and  there  was  a,  desk  six  feet 
Ion:;,  chock-full  of  little  drawers,  — 
contents  indicated  outside  in  letters  of 
Aviiich  the  proprietor  knew  the  mean- 
in;:,  not  I. 

Between  the  door  and  the  fireplace 
was  a  screen,  on  which,  in  place  of 
idle  pictures,  might  be  seen  his  plans 
and  calculations  as  a  land  surveyor, 
especially  those  that  happened  to  be 
at  present  in  operation  or  under  con- 
sideration. So  he  kept  his  business 
before  his  eye,  on  the  chance  of  a  good 
idea  striking  him  at  a  leisure  moment. 

"  Will  Fielding's  acceptance  lalls 
due  to-morrow,  Crawley."    • 

"  Yes,  sir,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Present  it ;  he  is  not  ready  for  it, 
I  know." 

"  Well,  sir,  wh'it  next  ?  " 

"  Serve  him  with  a  writ." 

"  He  will  be  preciously  put  about." 

"  lie  will.  Seem  sorry,  say  you  are 
a  little  short,  but  won't  trouble  him 
for  a  month,  if  it  is  inconvenient ;  but 
he  must  make  you  safe  by  signing  a 
judgment 


Ay 


Sir,  may  I  make  hold 


to  ask  what  is  the  game  with  this 
young  Fielding  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know  the  game,  — 
to  get  liim  in  my  power." 

"  And  a  very  good  game  it  is,  sir! 
Nobody  plays  it  better  than  you.  He 
won't  be  the  otdy  one  that  i-  in  your 
power  in  these  ])arts  —  he!  he!" 
And  Crawley  cliuckle<l  without  mer- 
riment. "  Excuse  my  curiosity,  sir, 
but  when  about  is  the  blow  to  fall?  " 


"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,  sir,  only  the  sooner  the 
better.  I  have  a  grudge  against  the 
family." 

"  Have  you  ?  then  don't  act  upon 
it.  I  don't  employ  you  to  do  your 
business,  but  mine." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Meadows.  You 
don't  think  I  'd  be  so  ungrateful  as  to 
spoil  your  admirable  plans  by  acting 
upon  any  little  feeling  of  my  own." 

"  I  don't  tbink  you  would  be  so 
silly.   For.  ifyou  did,  we  should  part." 

"  Don't  mention  such  an  event,  sir." 

"  You  have  been  drinking,  Craw- 
ley ! ' 

"  Not  a  drop,  sir,  this  two  days." 

"  Y''ou  are  a  liar  !  The  smell  of  it 
comes  through  your  skin.  I  won't 
have  it.  Do  you  hear  what  I  say  ? 
I  won't  have  it.  No  man  that  drinks 
can  do  business, — especially  mine." 

"I'll  never  touch  a  drop  again. 
They  called  me  into  the  public-house, 
—  they  wouldn't  take  a  denial." 

'■  Hold  your  prate,  and  listen  to  me. 
The  next  time  you  look  at  a  public- 
house,  say  to  yourself,  Peter  Crawley, 
that  is  hot  a  public-house  to  you.  —  it 
is  a  hospital,  a  workhouse,  or  a  dung- 
hill, —  ibr,  if  you  go  in  there,  John 
Meadows,  that  is  your  friend,  will  be 
your  enemy." 

"  Heaven  forbid,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"  Drink  this  basinful  of  coffee." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Tliank  you,  sir.  It  is 
very  bitter." 

"  Is  vour  head  clear  now  ?  " 

"As  a  bell." 

"  Then  go  and  do  my  work,  and 
don't  do  an  atom  more  or  an  atom 
less  than  your  task." 

"  No,  sir.  O  Mr.  Meadows  !  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  serve  you.  You  are  as 
deep  as  the  sea,  .'iir,  and  as  firm  as  the 
rock.  You  never  drink,  nor  anything 
else,  that  I  can  find.  A  man  out  of  a 
thousand!  No  little  weakness,  like 
the  re^t  of  n-;,  sir.  You  are  a  great 
man,  sir.  You  are  a  model  of  a  man 
of  bus—  " 

"  Good  morninix,"  growled  Mead- 
ows, roughly,  and  turned  his  bnck. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Peter, 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


61 


mellifluously.  And,  opening  the  back 
door  about  ten  inches,  he  wriggled 
out  like  a  weasel  going  througli  a 
chink  in  a  wall. 

•William  Fielding  fell  like  a  child 
into  the  trap.  "  Give  me  time,  and  it 
will  be  all  ritrht,"  is  the  debtor's  de- 
lusion. William  thanked  Crawley 
for  not  pressing  him,  and  so  compel- 
ling him  to  force  a  sale  of  all  his  hogs, 
fat  or  lean.  Crawley  received  his 
thanks  with  a  leer,  returned  in  four 
days,  got  the  judgment  signed,  and 
wriggled  away  with  it  to  Meadows's 
back  door. 

"  You  take  out  an  arrest,"  —  Mead- 
ows gave  him  a  pocket-book,  —  "  put 
it  in  this,  and  keep  it  ready  in  your 
pocket  night  and  day." 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  come  into  use 
before  the  year  is  out,  sir." 

"I  hope" not." 

George  Fielding  gone  to  Australia 
to  make  a  thousand  pounds  by  farm- 
ing and  cattle-feeding,  that  so  he  may 
claim  old  Merton's  promised  consent 
to  marry  Susan  :  Susan  observing  Mr. 
Eden's  precepts  even  more  religiously 
than  when  he  was  with  her;  active, 
full  of  charitable  deeds,  often  pensive, 
always  anxious,  but  not  despondent 
now,  thanks  to  the  good  pliysician  : 
Meadows  falling  deeper  and  deeper  in 
love,  but  keeping  it  more  jealously 
secret  than  ever  ;  on  his  guard  against 
Isaac,  on  his  guard  against  William, 
on  his  guard  against  John  Meadows  ; 
hoping  everything  from  time  and  acci- 
dents, from  the  distance  between  the 
lovers,  from  George's  incapacity,  of 
which  he  had  a  great  opinion,  —  "  He 
will  never  make  a  thousand  pence,'' 
—  but  not  trusting  to  the  things  he 
hoped  :  on  the  contrary,  watching 
with  keen  eye,  and  working  with  sub- 
tle threads  to  draw  everybody  into  his 
power  who  could  assist  or  thwart  him 
in  the  o!)ject  his  deep  heart  and  iron 
will  were  set  on  :  William  Fielding 
going  down  the  hill  Meadows  was 
mounting  ;  getting  the  better  of  his 
passion,  and  substituting,  by  degrees, 
a  brother-in-law's  regard. 

Flowers  and  weeds  have  one  thing 


in  common,  —  while  they  live  they 
grow.  Natural  growth  is  a  slow  pi'o- 
cess,  to  describe  it  day  by  day  a  slower. 
For  the  next  four  tnonths  matters 
glided  so  quietly  on  the  slopes  I  have 
just  indicated,  that  an  intelligent  cal- 
culation by  the  reader  may  very  well 
take  the  place  of  a  tedious  chronicle 
by  the  writer.  Moreover,  the  same 
monotony  did  not  hang  over  every 
part  of  our  story.  These  very  four 
months  were  eventful  enough  to  one 
of  our  characters  ;  and  through  him, 
by  subtle  and  positive  links,  to  every 
man  and  every  woman  who  tills  any 
considerable  position  in  this  matter- 
of-fact  romance.  Therefore  our  story 
drags  us  from  the  meadows  round 
Grassmere  to  a  massive  castellated 
building,  glaring  red  brick  with  white 
stone  corners.  These  colors  and  their 
contrast  relieve  the  stately  mass  of 
some  of  that  grimness  which  charac- 
terizes the  castles  of  antiquity  ;  but 
enough  remains  to  strike  some  awe 
into  the  beholder. 

Two  round  towers  flank  the  prin- 
cipal entrance.  On  one  side  of  the 
right-hand  tower  is  a  small  house  con- 
structed in  the  same  style  as  the 
grand  pile.  The  castle  is  massive 
and  grand  :  this,  its  satellite,  is  mas- 
sive and  tiny,  like  the  frog  doing  his 
little  bit  of  bull,  —  like  Signpr  Her- 
vio  Nano,  a  tremendous  thick  dwarf 
now  no  more.  There  is  one  dimple 
to  all  this  gloomy  grandeur :  a  rich 
little  flower-garden,  wiiose  frame  of 
emerald  turf  goes  smiling  iip  to  the 
very  angle  of  the  frowning  fortress, 
as  some  few  happy  lakes  in  the 
world  wash  the  very  foot  of  the 
mountains  that  hem  them.  From 
this  green  spot  a  few  flowers  look  up 
with  bright  and  wondering  wide- 
opened  eyes  at  the  great  bullying 
masonry  over  their  heads  ;  and  to  the 
spectator  of  both,  these  sparks  of 
color  at  the  castle-foot  are  dazzling 
and  charming  ;  they  are  like  rubies, 
sapphires,  and  pink  topaz,  in  some  un- 
couth angular  ancient  setting. 

Between  the  central  towers  is  a 
sharp  arch,  filled  by  a  huge  oak  door 


C2 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


of  the  same  shape  and  size,  which, 
for  further  security  or  ornament,  is 
closely  studded  with  larj,^e  diamond- 
licadcd  nails.  A  man  with  keys  at 
liis  girdle  like  the  ancient  house- 
wives opens  the  huge  door  to  you 
with  slight  effort,  so  well  oiled  is  it. 
You  slip  under  a  porch  into  an  en- 
closed yard,  the  great  door  shuts  al- 
most of  itself,  and  now  it  depends 
upon  the  housewifely  man  whether 
you  ever  see  the  vain,  idle,  and  every- 
way oltjectionahle  world  again. 

Passing  into  the  interior  of  the 
vast  huilding,  you  find  yourself  in 
an  extensive  aisle  traversed  at  right 
angles  by  another  of  similar  dimen- 
sions, the  whole  in  form  of  a  cross. 
In  the  centre  of  each  aisle  is  an  iron 
staircase,  so  narrow  that  two  people 
cannot  pass,  and  so  light  and  open 
that  it  merely  ornaments,  not  ob- 
structs, the  view  of  the  aisle.  These 
staircases  make  two  springs  ;  the 
first  takes  them  to  the  level  of  two 
corridors  on  the  first  floor.  Here 
there  is  a  horizontal  space  of  about 
a  yard,  whence  the  continuation 
staiVease  rises  to  the  second  and  high- 
est floor.  This  gives  three  corri- 
dors, all  studded  with  doors  opening 
on  small  separate  apartments,  where- 
of anon. 

NearJy  all  the  inmates  of  this  grim 
palace  wear  a  peculiar  costume  and 
disguise,  one  feature  of  which  is  a 
cap  of  coarse  materials,  with  a  visor 
to  it,  which  conceals  the  features  all 
but  the  chin  and  the  eyes,  which  last 
peej),  in  a  very  droll  way,  through 
two  holes  cut  for  that  purpose. 

They  are  distinuuished  by  a  cour- 
teous mnnner  to  strangers,  whom  they 
never  fail  to  salute  in  passing,  with 
great  apparent  cordiality  ;  indeed,  we 
fear  we  >liall  never  tneet  in  the  busy 
world  with  such  uniform  urbanity  as 
in  this  and  similar  retreats.  It 
arises  froTU  two  causes  :  one  is  that 
here  strangers  are  welcome  from  their 
rarity;  another,  tliat  jwliteness  is  a 
piirt  of  the  education  of  the  place, 
which,  besides  its  otlier  uses,  is  an 
adult  school  of  manners,  morals,  re- 


ligion,  grammar,   writing,   and  cob- 
bling. 

With  the  exception  of  its  halls  and 
corridors,  the  building  is  almost  en- 
tirely divided  into  an  immense  number 
of  the  small  apartments  noticed  above. 
These  arc  homely  inside,  but  exqui- 
sitely clean.  The  furniture,  mova- 
ble and  fixed,  none  of  which  is  super- 
fluous, can  be  briefly  described :  A 
bedstead,  consisting  oif' the  side  walls  of 
the  apartment ;  polished  steel  staples 
are  fixed  in  these  walls,  two  on  each 
side  the  apartment,  at  an  elevation  of 
about  two  feet  and  a  half.  The  occu- 
pant's mattress  (made  of  cocoa  bark) 
has  two  stout  steel  hooks  at  each  end  ; 
the.se  are  hooked  into  the  staples,  and 
so  he  lies  across  his  abode.  A  deal 
table  the  size  of  a  pocket-handkerchief; 
also  a  deal  tripod.  A  waterspout  so 
ingeniously  contrived,  that,  turned  to 
the  riglit,  it  sends  a  small  stream  into 
a  copper  basin,  and  to  the  left,  into  a 
bottomless  close  stool  at  some  distance. 
A  small  gas-pipe  tipped  with  )>olished 
brass.  In  one  angle  of  the  wall  a  sort 
of  commode,  or  open  cupboard,  on 
whose  shelves  a  bright  pewter  plate,  a 
knife  and  fork,  and  a  wooden  spoon  : 
in  a  drawer  of  this  commode  yellow 
soap  and  a  comb  and  brush.  A  grat- 
ing down  low  for  hot  air  to  come  in, 
if  it  likes,  and  another  up  high  for  foul 
air  to  go  out,  if  it  chooses.  On  tho 
wall  a  large  placard  containing  rules 
for  the  tenant's  direction,  and  smaller 
placards  containing  texts  from  Script- 
ure, the  propriety  of  returning  thanks 
after  food,  &c.  ;'a  slate,  and  a  couple 
of  leathern  knee-guards  used  in  polish- 
ing the  room.  And  that  is  all.  But 
the  deal  furniture  is  so  clean  you  might 
eat  off  it.  The  walls  are  snow,  "the 
copper  basin  and  the  bra«s  gas-pij)e 
glitter  like  red  gold  and  pale^jold,  and 
the  bed-hooks  like  silver  hot  from  the 
furnace,  Altogetlier  it  is  inviting  at 
first  sight 

To  one  of  these  snowy  snug  retreats 
was  now  ushered  an  acquaintance  of 
ours,  Tom  Robinson.  A  brief  retro- 
spect must  dispose  of  his  intermediate 
history. 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


63 


"When  he  left  us  lie  went  to  the 
county  bridewell,  where  he  remained 
until  the  assizes,  an  interval  of  about 
a  mouth.  He  was  tried  ;  direct  evi- 
dence was  stronij:  ajrainst  him,  and  he 
defended  himself  with  so  much  inge- 
nuity and  sleiglit  of  intellect,  that  the 
jury  could  not  doubt  his  sleight  of 
hand  and  morals  too.  He  was  found 
guilty,  identified  as  a  notorious  thief, 
and  condemned  to  twelve  months'  im- 
prisonment and  ten  years'  transporta- 
tion. He  returned  to  the  county  j 
bridewell  for  a  few  days,  and  then  was 
shifted  to  the  castellated  building. 

Tom  Robinson  had  not  been  in 
jail  this  four  years,  and,  since  his  last 
visit,  great  changes  had  begun  to  take 
place  in  the  internal  economy  of  these 
skeleton  palaces,  and  in  the  treatment 
of  their  prisoners. 

Prisons  might  be  said  to  be  in  a 
transition  state.  In  some,  as  in  tlie 
county  bridewell  Robinson  had  just 
left,  the  old  system  prevailed  in  full 
force.  The  two  systems  vary  in  their 
aims.  Under  the  old,  jail  was  a 
finishing  school  of  felony  and  petty 
larceny.  Under  the  new,  it  is  in- 
tended to  be  a  penal  hospital  for  dis- 
eased and  contagious  souls. 

The  treatment  of  prisoners  is  not 
at  present  invariable.  Within  certain 
limits  the  law  unwisely  allows  a  dis- 
cretionary power  to  the  magistrates  of 
the  county  where  the  jail  is;  and  the 
jailer,  or,  as  he  is  now  called,  the 
governor,  is  their  agent  in  these  par- 
ticulars. 

Hence,  in  some  new  jails  you  may 
now  see  the  non-separate  system  ;  in 
others,  the  separate  system  without 
silence  ;  in  others,  the  separate  and 
silent  system  ;  in  others,  a  mixture 
of  these,  i.  e,  the  hardened  offenders 
kept  sep  uMte,  t!ie  improving  ones  al- 
lowed to  mix  ;  and  these  varieties  are 
at  the  discretion  of  the  migisirates, 
who  settle  within  the  legal  limits  each 
jail's  system. 

The  magistrates,  in  this  part  of 
their  business,  are  represented  by  cer- 
tain of  their  own  body,  who  are  called 
"the  visiting   justices";   and   these 


visiting  justices  can  even  order  and 
authorize  a  jailer  to  tlog  a  prisoner 
for  offences  committed  in  jail. 

Now,  a  year  or  two  before  our  tale, 
one  Captain  O'Connor  was  governor 
of  this  jail.  Captain  O'Connor  was 
a  man  of  great  public  merit.  He  had 
been  one  of  the  first  dissatisfied  with 
the  old  system,  and  had  written  very 
intelligent  books  on  crime  and  pun- 
ishment, which  are  supposed  to  have 
done  their  sliare  in  opening  the  na- 
tion's eyes  to  the  necessity  of  regen- 
erating its  prisons.  But  after  a  while 
the  visiting  justices  of  this  particular 
count}'^  became  dissatisfied  with  him  ; 
he  did  not  go  far  enough  nor  fast 
enough  with  the  stone  he  had  helped 
to  roll.  Books  and  reports  came  out 
which  convinced  the  magistrates  that 
severe  punishment  of  mind  and  body 
were  the  essential  object  of  a  jail,  and 
that  it  was  wrong  and  chimerical  to  at- 
tempt any  cures  by  any  other  means. 

Captain  O'Connor  had  been  very 
successful  by  other  means,  and  could 
not  quite  come  to  this  opinion ;  but 
he  had  a  deputy  governor  who  did. 
System,  when  it  takes  a  hold  of  the 
mind,  takes  a  strong  hold,  and  the 
men  of  system  became  very  impatient 
of  opposition,  and  grateful  for  thor- 
ough acquiescence. 

Hence  it  came  to  pass  that  in  the 
course  of  a  few  months  Captain 
O'Connor  found  himself  in  an  uncom- 
fortable position.  His*  deputy  gover- 
nor, Mr.  Hawes,  enjoyed  the  confi- 
dence of  the  visiting  justices  ;  he  did 
not.  His 'suggestions  were  negatived, 
Hawes's  accepted.  And,  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  became  at  last  useless  as 
well  as  uncomfortable  ;  for  these  gen- 
tleihen  were  determined  to  carry  out 
their  system,  and  had  a  willing  ai^ent 
in  the  prison.  O'Connor  was  little 
more  than  a  drag  on  the  vv'heel  he 
could  not  hinder  from  gliding  down 
the  hill.  At  last  it  happened  that  he 
had  overdrawn  his  account,  without 
clearly  stating  at  the  time  that  the 
sum,  which  amounted  nearly  to  one 
hundred  pounds,  was  taken  by  him  as 
an  accommodation,  or  advance  of  sal- 


C4 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND,' 


ar}'.  This,  which,  though  by  no  means 
unpiecvilentrd,  was  an  utilmsiiu'ss- 
like  thou<j;li  innocent  omission,  justi- 
fied censure. 

The  miijxistfates  went  further  tliaii 
censure;  tliey  liad  long  been  h)oking 
lor  an  excuse  to  get  rid  of  him,  and 
avail  themselves  of  the  zeal  and  ener- 
gy of  Ilawes.  They  therefore  re- 
moved O'Connor,  stating  publicly  as 
tlieir  reason  that  he  was  old  ;  and 
their  interest  put  Hawes  into  his  place. 
There  was  something  melancholy  in 
such  a  dose  to  O'Connor's  public 
career.  Fortune  used  him  hardly. 
He  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  im- 
prove prisons,  yet  he  was  dismissed 
on  this  or  that  pretence,  but  really  be- 
cause he  could  not  keep  pace  with  the 
soi-clisant  improvements  of  three  inex- 
perienced persons.  Honorable  men- 
tion of  his  name,  his  doings,  and  his 
words,  is  scattered  about  various  re- 
spectable works  by  respectable  men 
on  this  subject,  yet  he  ended  in  some- 
thing very  like  discredit. 

However,  tlie  public  gained  this  by 
the  injustice  done  him,  —  that  an  im- 
portant expt^riment  was  tried  under 
an  active  and  willing  agent. 

With  Governor  liawes  the  separate 

and  silent  system   flourished  in 

Jail. 

The  justices  and  the  new  governor 
were  of  one  tuind.  They  had  been 
working  together  about  two  years 
when  Hobinson  came  into  the  jail. 

During  this  period  three  justices 
had  periodically  visited  the  jail,  pe- 
rused t!ierej)orts,examined;as  in  duty 
Dound,  the  surgeon,  the  officers,  and 
prisoners,  and  were  proud  of  the  sys- 
tem and  its  practtical  working  here. 

With  respect  to  Hawes,  the  gover- 
nor, their  opinion  of  him  was  best 
shown  in  the  rejxjrts  they  had  to  make 
to  the  Home  Office  from  time  to  time. 
In  these  they  invariably  spoke  of  him 
as  an  active,  zealous,  and  deserving 
officer. 

Robinson  had  heard  much  of  the 
changes  in  jail  treatment,  but  they 
liad  not  yet  come  home  to  him  ;  when, 
therefore,    instead    of    being    turned 


adrift  among  seventy  other  spirits  as 
bad  as  himself,  and  greeted  witli  their 
boisterous  acclamations,  and  the 
friendly  pressure  of  seven  or  eight 
felonious  hands,  he  was  ushered  into 
a  cell  white  as  driven  snow,  and  his 
housewifely  duties  explained  to  him, 
under  a  heavy  petnilty  if  a  speck  of 
dirt  should  ever  be  discovered  on  his 
little  wall,  his  little  floor,  his  little 
table,  or  if  his  cocoa- bark  mattress 
shoultl  not  be  neatly  rolled  up  after 
use,  and  the  strap  tight,  ami  the  steel 
hook  polished  like  glass,  and  his  little 
brass  gas-pipe  glittering  like  gold,  etc., 
Thomas  looked  blank  and  had  a  mis- 
giving. 

"  I  say,  guv'nor,"  said  he  to  the 
nnder-turnkey,  "  bow  long  am  I  to  be 
here  before  I  go  into  the  yard  i  " 

"  Talking  not  allowed  out  of  hours/* 
was  the  only  reply. 

I^obinson  whistled.  The  turnkey, 
whose  name  was  Evans,  looked  at 
him  with  a  doubtful  air,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  IShall  I  let  that  pass  unpun- 
ished or  not  ?  "  HoAvever,  he  went 
out  without  any  further  observation, 
leaving  the  door  open  ;  but  the  next 
moment  he  returned  and  put  his  head 
in  :  "  Prisoners  shut  their  own  doors," 
said  he. 

"  Well !  "  drawled  Robinson,  look- 
ing coolly  and  insolently  into  the 
man's  face,  "  1  don't  see  what  I  sliall 
gain  by  that."  And  Mr.  Robinson 
seated  himself,  and,  turning  his  back 
a  little  rudely,  immersed  liimself  os- 
tentatiously in  his  own  thoughts. 

"  You  will  gain  as  you  won't  bo 
put  in  the  black  -  hole  for  refractory 
conduct,  No.  19,"  replied  Evans, 
quietly  and  steridy. 

Kol)inson  made  a  wry  face,  and 
pushed  the  door  peevishly  ;  it  shut 
Auith  a  spring,  and  no  mortal  power  or 
iuLTcnuity  could  now  o})en  it  from  the 
inside. 

"  Well,  I  'm  blest,"  said  the  self- 
immured,  "  every  man  hi>  own  turn- 
key now  ;  save  the  Queen's  pocket, 
whatever  you  do.  Times  arc  so  hard. 
Box  at  the  opera  costs  no  end.  What 
have  we  got  here  ?     A  Bible  !  !  ray 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


e6 


eye 


invisible  print !      Oh  !    I   see : 


't  is  n't  for  us  to  read,  't  is  for  the 
visitors  to  ailmiie,  —  like  the  new 
sheet  over  the  dirty  blankets  !  What 's 
this  hung  up  ? 

'  Grace  after  Meat.' 

Oil !  with  all  my  heart,  your  rev- 
erence !  Here,  turnkey,  fetch  up  the 
venison  and  the  sweet  sauce, — you 
may  leave  tiie  water-gruel  till  I  rhig 
for  it.  If  I  am  to  say  grace  let  me 
feel  it  first;  drat  your  eyes  all  round, 
governor,  turnkeys,  chaplain,  and 'all 
the  hypocritical  crew  !  " 

The  next  morning,  at  half  past 
five,  the  prison  bell  rang  for  the  of- 
ficers to  rise,  and  at  six  a  turnkey 
unlocked  Kobinson's  door,  and  de- 
livered the  following  in  an  imperious 
key  all  in  one  note  and  without  any 
rests  :  "  Prisoner  to  open  and  shake 
bedding  wash  face  hands  and  neck 
on  pain  of  punishment  and  roll  up 
hammocks  and  clean  cells  and  be 
ready  to  clean  corridors  if  required." 
So  chanting  —  slammed  door  —  van- 
ished. 

Robinson  set  to  work  with  alacri- 
ty upon  the  little  arrangements ;  he 
soon  finished  them,  and  then  he  would 
not  have  been  sorry  to  turn  out  and 
clean  the  corridor  for  a  change,  but 
it  was  not  his  turn.  He  sat,  dull  and 
lonely,  till  eight  o'clock,  when  sud- 
denly a  key  was  inserted  into  a  small 
lock  in  the  centre  of  his  door,  but  out- 
siife  ;  the  effect  of  this  was  to  open 
a  small  trap  in  the  door ;  through 
this  aperture  a  turnkey  shoved  in  the 
man's  breakfast,  without  a  word, 
"  like  one  flinging  guts  to  a  bear" 
(Seott)  ;  and,  on  the  sociable  Tom 
attempting  to  say  a  civil  word  to  him, 
drew  the  trap  sharply  back,  and  her- 
metically sealed  the  aperture  with  a 
snap.  The  breakfast  was  in  a  round 
tin,  with  two  compartments  ;  one 
pint  of  gruel  and  six  ounces  of  bread. 

These  two  phages  of  farina  were 
familiar  to  Mr.  Robinson.  He  ate 
the  bread  and  drank  the  gruel,  add- 
iug  a  good  deal  of  salt. 

At  nine  the  chapel  bell  rang.    Rob- 


inson was  glad ;  not  that  he  ad- 
mired the  Liturgy,  but  he  said  to 
himself,  "Now  I  shall  S(;e  a  face  or 
two,  perhaps  some  old  pals." 

To  his  dismay,  the  warden  who 
opened  his  cell  bade  him  at  the  same 
time  put  on  the  prison  cap,  with  the 
peak  down ;  and,  when  he  and  the 
other  male  pri-oners  were  mustered 
in  the  corridor,  he  found  them  all 
like  himself,  visor  down,  eyes  glitter- 
ing like  basilisks'  or  cats'  through 
two  holes,  features  undistinguishable. 
The  word  was  given  to  march  in  perfect 
silence,  five  paces  apart,  to  the  chapel. 

The  sullen  pageant  started. 

"  I  've  heard  of  this,  but  who  'd 
have  thought,  they  carried  the  game 
so  far?  Well,  1  must  wait  till  we 
are.  in  chapel,  and  pick  up  a  pal  by 
the  voice,  whilst  the  parson  is  doing 
his  patter." 

On  reaching  the  chapd,  he  found 
to  his  dismay  that  the  chapel  was  as 
cellular  as  any  other  part  of  the  pris- 
on ;  it  was  an  agglomeration  of  one 
hundred  sentry-boxes,  opening  only 
on  the  side  facing  the  clergyman,  and 
even  there  only  from  the  prisoner's 
third  button  upwards.  Warders 
stood  oa  raised  platforms,  arid  jioint- 
ed  out  his  sentry-box  to  each  prisoner 
with  very  long  slender  wands  ;  the 
prisoner  went  info  it  and  pulled  the 
door  (it  shut  with  a  spring),  and  next 
took  his  badge  or  number  from  his 
neck,  and  hung  it  up  on  a  nail  a!)Ove 
his  head  in  the  sentry-box.  Between 
the  reading-desk  and  the  male  prison- 
ers was  a  small  area  where  the  debtoi's 
sat  together. 

The  female  prisoners  were  behind 
a  thick  veil  of  close  lattice-work. 

Service  concluded,  the  governor 
began  to  turn  awheel  in  his  pew; 
this  wheel  exhibited  to  the  corigrega- 
tion  a  number;  the  convict  whose 
numl)er  corresponded  instantly  took 
down  his  liadge  (the  sight  and  posi- 
tion of  which  had  determined  the 
governor  in  working  his  wheel),  drew 
the  pe'ak  of  his  cap  over  his  face,  and 
went  out  and  waited  in  the  lobby. 
When  all  the  sentry-boxes  were  thus 


66 


IT  IS  NKVKR  TOO  LATE  TO  MKND. 


emptied,   dead  march  of  the  whole 

f)arty  back  to  the  main  huildin;;  ; 
icro  the  warders  separati'd  tliem,  and 
sent  them  dead  silent,  vigors  down, 
some  to  clean  the  prison,  some  to 
their  cells,  some  to  hard  labor,  and 
some  to  an  airin<^  in  the  yard. 

Kohinson  was  to  be  aired.  "  Hur- 
rali !  "  thought  sociable  Tom.  Alas  ! 
he  found  the  system  in  the  yard  as 
well  as  in  the  chapel.  The  promenade 
was  a  numlicr  of  passages  radiating 
from  a  commcjii  centre  ;  the  sides  of 
passage  were  thick  walls ;  entrance 
to  passage  an  iron  gate  locked  behind 
the  piomenader.  An  officer  remained 
on  the  watch  the  whole  time  to  see 
that  a  word  did  not  creep  out  or  in 
through  one  of  the  gates. 

"And  this  they  call  out  of  doors," 
grunted  Robinson. 

After  an  hour's  promenade  he  was 
taken  into  his  cell,  where,  at  twelve, 
the  trap  in  his  door  was  opened  and 
his  dinner  shoved  in,  and  the  trap 
snapped  to  again  all  in  tliree  seconds. 
A  very  good  dinner,  better  than  pau- 
pers always  get,  —  three  ounces  of 
meat,  no  l)one,  eight  ounces  of  pota- 
toes, and  eight  ounces  of  bread.  After 
dinner,  three  weary  hours  wkliout  an 
incident.  At  about  three  o'clock  one 
of  the  warders  opened  his  cell  door, 
and  put  his  head  in  and  swiftly  with- 
drew it.  Three  more  monotonous 
hours,  and  then  supper,  —  one  pint  of 
gruel,  and  eight  ounces  of  bread.  He 
ate  it  as  slowly  as  he  could  to  eke  out 
a  few  minutes  in  the  heavy  day. 
Quarter  before  eight  a  bell  to  go  to 
bed.  At  eight  the  warders  came 
round,  and  saw  that  all  the  prison- 
ers were  in  bed.  The  next  day  the 
same  thing,  and  the  next  ditto,  with 
this  exception,  that  one  of  the  warders 
came  into  his  cell,  and  minutvly  ex- 
amined it  in  dead  silence.  The  fourth 
day  the  chajilain  visited  him,  asked 
him  a  few  questions,  rejieated  :i  few 
sentences  on  the  moral  res|)onsibility  of 
cvory  human  l)eing,  and  set  liitii  some 
texts  of  Scripture  to  learn  by  heart. 
This  visit,  though  merely  one  of  rou- 
tine, broke  the  thief's  dead  silence  and 


solitude,  and  he  wouM  have  been 
thankful  to  have  a  visit  every  day 
from  the  chajdiiin,  whose  manner  was 
formal,  but  not  surly  and  forbidding 
like  the  turnkeys'  or  warders'. 

Next  <iay  the  governor  of  the  jail 
came  suddenly  into  the  cell,  and  put 
to  Kohinson  several  questions,  which 
he  answered  with  great  affability ; 
then,  turning  on  his  heel,  said  brusque- 
ly, "  Have  you  anything  to  say  to 
me  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  Out  with  it  then,  my  man,"  said 
the  governor,  impatiently. 

"  Sir,  1  was  condemned  to  hard 
labor  ;  now  I  wanted  to  ask  you  when 
my  hard  labor  is  to  begin,  because  I 
have  not  been  put  upon  anything  yet." 

"  We  are  kinder  to  you  than  the 
judgf's  then,  it  seems." 

"  Yes,  sir  !  but  I  am  not  naturally 
lazy,  and  —  " 

"  A  little  hard  work  would  amuse 
you  just  now  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  think  it  would  ;  I 
am  very  much  depressed  in  spirits." 

"  You  will  be  worse  before  you  are 
better." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  I  think  if  you 
don't  give  me  something  to  do  I  sliall 
go  out  of  my  mind  soon,  sir." 

"  That  is  what  they  all  say  !  You 
will  be  put  on  hard  labor,  I  promise 
you,  but  not  when  it  suits  you.  We  '11 
choose  the  time."  And  the  governor 
went  out  with  a  knowing  smile  upon 
his  face. 

The  thief  sat  himself  down  dis- 
consolately, and  the  heavy  hours,  like 
leaden  waves,  seemed  to  rise  and 
rise,  and  roll  over  his  head  and  suH'o- 
catc  him,  and  weigh  him  down,  down, 
down  to  bottomless  despair. 

At  length,  about  the  tenth  day, 
this  human  being's  desire  to  ex(han}:c 
a  friendly  word  with  some  other  hu- 
man creature  bec^ime  so  strong,  that 
in  the  chapd  during  service  he 
scratched  the  door  of  his  sentry-box, 
and  whisptred,  "  Mate,  whisper  mc 
a  word  for  pity's  sake."  He  received 
no  answer  ;  but  even  to  have  spoken 
himself  relieved  his  swellini:  soul  for 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


67 


a  minute  or  two.  Half  an  hour  later 
four  turnkeys  came  into  his  cell,  and 
took  him  down  stairs,  and  confined 
him  in  a  pitch-dark  dung:eon. 

The  prisoner  whose  attention  he 
had  tried  to  attract  in  chapel  had  told 
to  curry  favor,  and  was  reported  fa- 
vorably for  the  same. 

The  darkness  in  which  Robinson 
now  lay  was  not  like  the  darkness  of 
our  bedrooms  at  night,  in  which  the 
outlines  of  objects  are  more  or  less 
visible ;  it  was  the  frightful  darkness 
that  chilled  and  crushed  the  Esxyp- 
tians,  soul  and  body :  it  was  a  dark- 
ness that  might  be  felt. 

This  terrible  and  unnatural  priva- 
tion of  all  light  is  very  trying  to  all 
God's  creatures,  to  none  more  so 
than  to  man,  and  amongst  men  it  is 
most  daaigerous  and  distressing  to 
those  who  liave  imagination  and  ex- 
citability. Now  Robinson  was  a  man 
of  this  class,  a  man  of  rare  capacity, 
full  of  talent,  and  the  courage  and 
energy  that  vent  themselves  in  action, 
but  not  rich  in  the  tough  fortitude 
which  does  little,  feels  little,  and 
bears  much. 

When  they  took  him  out  of  the 
black-hole  after  six  hours'  confine- 
ment, he  was  observed  to  be  white  as 
a  sheet,  and  to  tremble  violently  all 
over,  and  in  this  state,  at  the  word 
of  command,  he  crept  back  all  the 
way  to  his  cell,  his  hand  to  his  eyes, 
that  were  dazzled  by  what  seemed 
to  him  bright  daylight,  his  body 
shaking,  while  every  now  and  then  a 
loud  convulsive  sob  burst  from  his 
bosom. 

The  governor  happened  to  be  on 
the  corridor,  looking  down  over  the 
rails  as  Robinson  passed  him.  He 
said  to  him,  with  a  victorious  sneer, 
"  You  won't  be  refractory  in  chapel 
again  in  a  hurry." 

"  No,"  said  the  thief,  in  a  low,  gen- 
tle voice,  despairingly. 

The  day  after  Robinson  was  put 
in  the  black-hole  the  surgeon  came 
his  rounds  :  he  found  him  in  a  comer 
of  his  cell  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
floor. 


The  man  took  no  notice  of  his  en- 
trance. The  surgeon  went  up.  to  him, 
and  shook  him  rather  roughly.  Rob- 
inson raised  his  heavy  eyes,  and 
looked  stupidly  at  him. 

The  surgeon  laid  hold  of  him,  and, 
placing  a  thumb  on  each  side  of  his 
eye,  inspected  that  organ  fully.  He 
then  felt  his  pulse;  this  done,  he  went 
out  with  the  warder.  Making  his  re- 
port to  the  governor,  he  came  in  turn 
to  Robinson. 

"  No.  19  is  sinking." 

"  O,  is  he  1  —  Fry  "  (turning  to 
a  warder),  "  what  has  19's  treatment 
been  1  " 

"  Been  in  his  cell,  sir,  without 
labor  since  he  came.  Black-hole  yes- 
terday, for  communicating  in  chap- 
el." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  1  " 

"  Doctor  says  he  is  sinking." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by 
his  sinking  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  the  surgeon, 
with  a  sort  of  diy  deference,  "  he  is 
dying,  —  that  is  what  I  mean." 

"  O,  he  is  dying,  is  he  ?  d — n  him, 
we  '11  stop  that :  here.  Fry,  take  No. 
19  out  into  the  garden,  and  set  him 
to  work  :  and  put  him  on  the  corri- 
dors to-morrow." 

"  Is  he  to  be  let  talk  to  us,  sir  ? " 

"  Humph  !  yes  !  " 

Robinson  was  taken  out  into  the 
garden  ;  it  was  a  small  piece  of  ground 
that  had  once  been  a  yard  ;  it  was  en- 
closed within  walls  of  great  height,  and 
to  us  would  have  seemed  a  cheerless 
place  for  horticulture,  but  to  Robinson 
it  appeared  the  garden  of  Eden  :  he 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  pleasure,  bnt 
the  next  moment  his  countenance 
fell. 

"  They  won't  let  me  stay  here  !  " 

Fry  took  him  into  the  centre  of  the 
garden,  and  put  a  spade  into  his  hand. 
"  Now  you  dig  this  piece,"  said  he,  in 
his  dry,  unfriendly  tone,  "  and,  if  you 
have  time,  cut  the  edges  of  this  grass 
path  square."  The  words  were  scarce- 
ly out  of  his  mouth  before  Rolunson 
drove  the  spade  into  the  soil  with  all 
the  energy  of  one  of  God's  creatures 


G8 


«IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND." 


escaping  from  system  back  to  na- 
ture. 

Fry  left  him  in  the  jranlcn  after 
niakin<;  him  pull  down  his  visor,  for 
there  was  one  more  prisoner  working 
at  some  distance, 

l{til)jnsun  set  to  with  energy,  and 
dug  for  the  hare  life.  It  was  a  sort 
of  work  he  knew  very  little  aljout, 
and  a  gardener  would  have  been  dis- 
gusted at  his  ridues,  hut  he  threw  his 
whole  soul  into  it,  and  very  soon  had 
nearly  completed  his  task.  Having 
been  confineil  so  long  without  exer- 
cise, his  breath  was  short,  and  he  per- 
spired ])rofuseiy  ;  but  he  did  not  care 
for  that.  "  O  how  sweet  this  is,  after 
being  buried  alive !  "  cried  he,  and  in 
went  the  spade  again.  Presently  he 
was  seized  with  a  strong  desire  to  try 
the  other  part  of  iiis  task,  the  more  so 
as  it  required  more  skill,  and  pre- 
sented a  ditficulty  to  overcome.  A 
part  of  the  path  had  been  shaved,  and 
the  knippers  lay  where  they  had  been 
last  used.  Robinson  inspected  the  re- 
cent work  with  an  intellitzent  eye,  and 
soon  discovered  traces  of  a  white  line 
on  one  side  of  the  path,  that  served  as 
a  guide  to  the  knippers.  "  O,  I  must 
draw  a  straiirht  line,"  said  Robinson, 
out  loud,  indulging  himself  with  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice  ;  "  but  how  ? 
can  you  tell  me  that  ?  "  he  inquired 
of  a  gooseberry-bush  that  grew  near. 
The  words  wbre  hardly  out  of  his 
mouth  before,  peering  about  in  every 
direction,  he  discovered  an  iron  spike 
wiih  some  cord  wrapped  round  it,  and, 
not  .far  off,  a  piece  of  chalk.  He 
pounced  on  them,  and,  fastening  the 
spike  at  the  cdgeof  the  path,  attempted 
to  draw  a  line  with  the  chalk,  u-^ing 
the  strimr  as  a  ruler.  Not  succeeding, 
he  reflected  a  little,  and  the  result  was, 
that  he  chalked  several  feet  of  the  line 
all  round  until  it  was  all  white:  then, 
witli  the  help  of  a  stake,  which  he 
took  for  his  other  terminus,  he  y:ot  the 
chiilked  strinix  into  a  straight  line, 
just  above  the  ed<xe  of  the  ^^rass  : 
next,  pressing  it  tifrhtly  down  with  his 
foot,  he  effected  a  white  line  on  the 
grass:    he  now  removed  the  string, 


took  the  knippers,  and,  following  his 
white  line,  trimmed  the  ])atli  secundum 
artein.  "  There,"  said  Robinson  to 
the  gooseberry-bush,  but  not  very 
loud,  for  fear  of  being  heard  and  f)un- 
ished,  "  I  wonder  whether  that  is  how 
the  gardeners  do  it  :  I  think  it  must 
be."  He  viewed  his  work  with  satis- 
faction, then  went  back  to  his  dig<j:ing, 
and,  as  he  put  the  finishing  stroke, 
Fry  came  to  bring  him  back  to  his 
cell ;  it  was  bedtime. 

"  I  never  worked  in  a  garden  be- 
fore," began  Robinson,  "  so  it  is  not 
so  well  done  as  it  might  be,  l>ut,  if  I 
was  to  come  every  day  for  a  week,  I 
think  I  could  master  it.  I  did  not 
know  there  was  a  garden  in  this  prison. 
If  ever  I  build  a  prison  there  shall 
be  a  garden  in  it  as  big  as  Belgrave 
Square." 

*'  Yon  are  precious  fond  of  the 
sound  of  your  own  voice,  No.  19," 
said  Fry,  diyly. 

"  We  are  not  forbidden  to  speak  to 
the  warders,  are  we  ?  " 

"  Not  at  proper  times." 

He  threw  open  cell  door  19,  and 
Robinson  entered. 

Before  he  could  close  the  door  Rob- 
inson said  :  "  Good  night,  and  thank 
you." 

"C  night,"  snarled  Fry,  sullenly, 
as  one  shamed  against  his  will  into  a 
civility. 

Robinson  lay  awake  half  the  night, 
and  awoke  the  next  niorning  rather 
feverish  and  stiff,  but  not  the  leaden 
thing  he  was  the  day  before. 

A  feather  turns  a  balanced  Fcalc. 
This  man's  life  and  reason  had  been 
engaged  in  a  drawn  battle  with  three 
mortal  enemies,  —  solitude,  silence, 
and  privation  of  all  employment. 
That  little  bit  of  labor  and  wholc-onie 
thoui^ht,  whose  paltry  and  childish 
details  I  half  blnsh  to  have  given  yon, 
were  yet  d>ie  to  my  story,  for  they 
took  a  man  out  of  himself,  cheeked 
tljc  self-devouring  process,  and  helped 
elastic  Nature  to  recover  herself  this 
bout. 

The  next  day  Robinson  was  em- 
ployed washing  the  prison.    The  next 


"IT   IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD. 


60 


he  p:ot:  two  hours  in  the  jn^arden  again, 
and  thi3  next,  the  trades '-master  was 
sent  into  his  cell,  to  teacli  him  liow  to 
make  scriihbinjr-brushes.  The  man 
sat  down,  and  was  commencing  a  dis- 
course, wlieu  Kobinson  interrupted 
him  pohtely. 

"  Sir,  lot  me  see  you  work,  and 
watcli  me  try  to  do  the  same,  and 
correct  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the 
tradcs'-master. 

He  remained  about  half  an  hour 
with  his  pnpii,  and,  when  he  went  out, 
he  said  to  one  of  the  turnkeys,  "  There 
is  a  chap  in  there  that  can  pick  up  a 
handicrtift  as  a  pigeon  picks  up  peas." 

The  next  day  tlie  surgeon  happened 
to  look  in.  He  founil  Robinson  as 
busy  as  a  bee  making  brushes,  pulled 
his  eye  open  again,  fl;lt  his  pulse,  and 
wrote  something  down  in  his  memo- 
randum-hook. He  left  directions  with 
the  turnkey  that  No.  19  should  be 
kept  employed,  with  the  governor's 
permission. 

Robinson's  hands  were  now  full ;  he 
made  brushes,  and  every  day  put 
some  of  them  to  the  test  upon  the 
floor  and  walls  of  the  building. 

It  happened  one  day,  as  he  was 
doing  housemaid  in  corridor  B,  that 
he  suddenly  heard  unwonted  sounds 
issue  from  a  part  of  the  premises  into 
which  lie  had  not  yot  been  introduced, 
the  yard  devoted  to  hard  lal)or.  First, 
he  heard  a  single  voice  shouting  ;  that 
did  not  last  long  ;  then  a  dead  silenfe  ; 
then  several  voices,  among  which  his 
quick  ear  recognized  Fry's  and  the 
governor's.  He  could  see  nothing; 
the  sounds  came  from  one  of  the  hard- 
labor  cells.  Rohinson  was  surprised 
and  puzzled  ;  what  were  these  sounds 
that-  broke  the  silence  of  the  living 
tomb  ?  An  instinct  told  him  it  was 
no  use  asking  a  turnkey,  so  he  de- 
voured his  curiosity  and  surprise  as 
best  he  might. 

The  very  next  day,  about  the  same 
hour,  both  were  again  excited  by 
noises  from  the  same  quarter  equally 
unintelligible.  He  heard  a  great 
noise  of  water  slashed  in  bucketfuls 


against  a  wall,  and  this  was  followed 
by  a  sort  of  gurgling  that  seemed  to 
him  to  come  from  a  human  throat ; 
this  latter,  however,  Avas  ahnost 
drowned  in  an  exulting  chuckle  of 
several  persons,  amongst  whom  be 
caught  the  tones  of  a  tm-nkey  called 
Hodges  and  of  the  governor  himself. 
Robinson  puzzled  and  puzzled  him- 
self, but  could  not  understand  these 
curious  sounds,  and  he  c<juld  see 
nothing  except  a  quantity  of  water  run- 
ning out  of  one  of  the  lal)or  cells,  and 
coursing  along  till  it  escaped  by  one 
of  the  two  gutters  that  drained  the 
yard.  Often  and  often  Robinson 
meditated  on  this,  and  exerted  all  his 
ingeimity  to  conceive  what  it  meant. 
His  previous  jail  experience  atFord- 
ed  him  no  clew,  and,  as  he  was  one 
of  those  who  hate  to  be  in  the  dark 
about  anything,  this  new  riddle  tor- 
tured him. 

However,  the  prison  was  generally 
so  dead  dumb  and  gloomy,  that,  upon 
two  such  cheerful  events  as  water 
splashing  and  creatures  laughing,  he 
could  not  help  crowing  a  little  out  of 
sympathy,  witliout  knowiuL;  why. 

The  next  day,  as  Robinson  Avas 
working  in  the  corridor,  the  gover- 
nor came  in  with  a  gentleman  whom 
he  treated  with  unusual  and  marked 
respect.  This  gentleman  was  the 
chairman  of  the  quarter-sessions,  and 
one  of  those  magistrates  who  had 
favored  the  adoption  of  the  present 
system. 

Mr.  Williams  inspected  the  pris- 
on ;  was  justly  pleased  with  its  ex- 
quisite cleanness  ;  he  questioned  the 
governor  as  to  tiie  health  of  the  pris- 
oners, and  received  for  answer  tiiat 
most  of  them  were  well,  but  that 
there  Avere  some  exceptions;  this  ap- 
peared to  satisfy  him.  He  Avent  into 
tlie  labor-yard,  looked  at  the  cranks, 
examined  the  numbers  printed  oa 
each  in  order  to  learn  their  respec- 
tive AA'eiglits,  and  sec  thit  the  prison- 
ers Avere  not  OA^erburdened. 
■  Went  Avith  the  governor  into  three 
I  or  four  cells,  and  a-ked  the  prisoners 
1  if  they  had  any  complaint  to  make. 


70 


"IT  IS  isEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


The  unanimous  answer  was,  "  No  !  " 

He  tlierv  -complimented  tlie  ju^ov- 
ernor,  —  and  diovc  home  to  his  own 
hou><.',  Ash  town  I'lirk. 

Tiiere,  after  dinner,  he  said  ro  a 
brother  ma<j;istratc,  "I  inspected  the 
jail  to  day  ;  was  all  over  it." 

The  next  mornini;  Fry  the  morose 
came  into  Kobinson's  cell  with  a 
more  cheerful  countenance  than 
usual.    Robinson  noticed  it. 

"  You  are  put  on  the  crank,"  said 
Frv. 

-  O,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  are.  Your  sen- 
tence was  hard  labor,  was  n't  it  ?  I 
don't  know  why  you  weren't  sent  on 
a  fortniy^ht  a^o." 

Fry  then  took  him  out  into  the  la- 
bor-yard, which  he  found  perforated 
with  cells  about  half  the  size  of  his 
hermitage  in  the  corridor.  In  each 
of  these  little  quiet  grottos  lurked  a 
monster,  called  a  crank.  A  crank  is 
a  machine  of  this  sort,  —  there  springs 
out  of  a  vertical  post  an  iron  handle, 
which  the  workman  taking;:  it  l)y  both 
liands  works  round  and  round  as  in 
some  country  places  you  may  have 
seen  the  villagers  draw  a  bucket  up 
from  a  well.  This  iron  handle  goes 
at  the  shoulder  into  a  small  iion  box 
at  the  top  of  ilie  post ;  and  inside 
that  box  the  resistance  to  the  turner 
is  regulated  by  the  manufacturer, 
who  states  the  value  of  tlie  resist- 
ance outside  in  cast  -  iron  letters. 
Thus  :  — 

5  lb.  crank. 

7  11).  crank.     10,  12,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Eighteen  hundred  revolutions  per 
liour,"  said  Mr.  Fry,  in  his  voice  of 
routine,  "  and  you  are  to  work  two 
hours  before  diimer."  So  saying  he 
left  him,  and  Hobinson,  with  the  fear 
of  punishment  before  him,  lost  not  a 
moment  in  getting  to  work.  He  found 
the  crank  go  easy  enough  at  first,  but 
tlie  longer  he  was  at  it  the  stittVr  it 
seemed  to  turn.  And  after  about  four 
hundred  turns  he  was  fain  to  breathe 
and  rest  himself.  He  took  three 
minutes'  rest,  then  at  it  again.  All 
this  lime  there  was  no  taskmaster,  as 


in  Egypt,  nor  whippcr-up  of  declining 
sable  energy,  as  in  Old  Kentucky. 
So  that,  if  I  am  so  i'ortunate  as  to 
have  a  reader  aged  ten,  he  is  wonder- 
ing why  tlie  fool  did  not  confine  his 
assertions  to  sai/itu/  he  hail  made  the 
turns.  My  (bar,  it  would  not  do. 
Though  no  mortal  oversaw  the  thief 
at  his  task,  the  eye  of  Science  was  in 
that  cell  and  watched  every  stroke,  and 
her  inexorable  finger  marked  it  down. 
In  plain  English,  on  the  face  of  the 
machine  was  a  tiling  like  a  chronom- 
eter, with  numbers  set  all  round,  and 
a  hand  which,  somehow  or  other,  al- 
ways pointed  to  the  exact  number  of 
turns  the  thief  had  made.  The  crank 
was  an  autometcr,  or  self-measurer, 
and  in  that  respect  your  superior  and 
mine,  my  little  drake. 

This  was  Robinson's  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  crank.  The  treadwheel 
had  been  the  mode  in  his  time ;  so,  by 
the  time  he  had  made  three  thousand 
turns,  he  was  rather  exhausted.  He 
leaned  upon  the  iron  handle,  and  sadly 
regretted  his  garden  and  his  brushes; 
but  fear  and  dire  necessity  were  upon 
him  ;  he  set  to  his  task  and  to  work 
again.  "  I  won't  look  at  the  meter 
again,  for  it  always  tells  me  less  than 
I  expect.  I'll  just  plough  on  till  that 
beguar  comes.  I  know  he  will  come 
to  the  minute." 

Sadly  and  doggedly  he  turned  the 
iron  handle,  and  turned  and  turned 
again  ;  and  then  he  panted  and  rested 
a  minute,  and  then  doggedly  to  his 
idle  toil  again.  He  was  now  so  fa- 
tigued that  his  head  seemed  to  have 
come  loose,  he  could  not  hold  it  up, 
and  it  went  round  and  round  and 
round  witli  the  crank-handle.  Hence 
it  was  that  Mr.  Fry  stood  at  the  mouth 
of  the  den  without  the  other  seeing 
him.  "  Halt,"  said  F'ry.  Robinson 
looked  up,  and  tiicre  was  the  turnkey 
inspecting'  him  with  a  discontented 
air.  "  I  'm  done,"  thought  Robinson, 
"  here  he  is  as  black  as  thunder,  —  the 
numlier  not  right,  no  doubt." 

"  VVliat  arc  ye  at "?  "  growled  Fry. 
"You  are  forty  over";  antl  the  said 
Fry  looked,  not  only  ill-used,  but  a 


IT  IS  KEVL-Z   TOO   LATE 


little  unhappy.  Robinson's  good  be- 
havior h  1(1  disappointed  the  poor  soul. 

This  Fry  was  a  j^riiii  odditv  ;  lie 
exp-M-ioiicod  a  fecUlo  coinphicencv 
wlien  thin;^s  went  wroui,^,  —  but  never 
else. 

The  tliief  exulted,  and  was  taken 
back  to  his  cell.  Dinner  came  almost 
iminediately  :  four  ounces  of  meat  in- 
stead of  three  ;  two  ounces  less  bread, 
but  a  large  access  of  potatoes,  which 
more  than  balanced  the  account. 

The  next  day  Robinson  was  put  on 
the  crank  again,  but  not  till  the  after- 
noon. He  had  finished  about  half  his 
task,  wlien  he  hean\^at  some  little  dis- 
tance from  him  a  famt  moaning.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  run  out  of  his  cell 
and  see  what  was  the  matter,  but 
Hodges  and  Fry  were  both  in  the 
yard,  and  he  knew  that  they  would 
report  him  for  punishment  upon  the 
least  breach  of  discipline.  So  he 
turned  and  turned  the  crank,  with 
these  moans  ringing  in  his  ears,  and 
perplexing  his  soul. 

Finding  they  did  not  cease,  he 
peeped  cautiously  into  the  yard,  and 
there  he  saw  the  governor  liimself  as 
well  as  Hodges  and  Fry  :  all  three 
were  standing  close  to  the  place 
whence  these  groans  issued,  and  with 
an  air  of  eouiplete  unconcern. 

But  presently  the  groans  ceased, 
and  then  mysteriously  enough  the  lit- 
tle group  of  disciplinarians  threw  off 
their  apathy.  Hodges  and  Fry  went 
hastily  to  the  pump  with  buckets, 
which  they  filled,  and  then  came  back 
to  the  governor;  the  next  minute 
Robinson  heard  water  dashed  repeat- 
edly against  the  walls  of  the  cell,  and 
then  the  governor  laughed, and  Hodges 
lauglicd,  and  even  the  gloomy  Fry 
vented  a  brief,  grim  chuckle. 

And  now  Robinson  quivered  witli 
curiosity  as  he  turned  his  crank,  but 
there  was  no  means  of  gratifying  it. 
It  so  happened,  however,'  that  some 
ten  minutes  huer  the  governor  sent 
Hodges  and  Fry  to  another  part  of  the 

f)rison,  and  they  had  not  been  gone 
ong,  before  a  message  came  to  him- 
self, on  which  he  went  hastily  out,  and 


the  yard  was 
curiosity    had 

that,  notwithstanding  tlie  risK  nc  ran, 
for  he  knew  the  governor  vvoulil  send 
back  to  the  yard  the  very  first  disen- 
gaged officer  he  met,  he  could  not  stay 
quii-t.  As  the  governor  closed  tho 
gate  he  ran  with  all  speed  to  the  cell, 
he  darted  in,  and  then  the  thief  saw 
what  made  the  three  honest  men 
laugh  so.  He  saw  it,  and  started 
back  with  a  cry  of  dismay,  for  the 
sight  chilled  the  felon  to  the  bone. 

A  lad  about  fifteen  years  of  age 
was  pinned  against  the  wall  in  agony 
by  a  leathern  belt  passed  round  his 
shoulders  and  drawn  violently  round 
two  staples  in  the  wall.  His  arms 
were  jammed  against  his  sides  by  a 
strait-waistcoat  fastened  with  straps 
behind,  and  those  straps  drawn  with 
the  utmost  severity.  But  this  was  not 
all.  A  high  leathern  collar  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  thick  squeezed  his  throat  in 
its  iron  grasp.  His  hair  and  his 
clothes  were  drenched  widi  water 
which  had  been  thrown  in  bucket! uls 
over  him,  and  now  dripped  from  him 
on  the  floor.  His  face  was  white,  his 
lips  livid,  his  eyes  were  nearly  glazed, 
and  his  teeth  chattered  with  cold  and 
pain. 

A  more  unprincipled  man  than 
Robinson  did  not  exist;  but  burglary 
and  larceny  do  tiot  extinguish  hu- 
manity in  a  thinking  rascal,  as  resi<j:n- 
ing  the  soul  to  system  can  extinguish 
it  in  a  dull  dog. 

"  O,  what  is  this "?  "  cried  Robinson, 
"  what  are  tlie  villains  doing  to  you  ?  " 

He  received  no  answer ;  but  the 
boy's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  he  turned 
those  .glazing  eyes,  the  only  part  of 
his  body  he  could  turn,  towards  the 
speaker.  Robinson  ran  up  to  him, 
and  began  to  try  and  loosen  him. 

At  this  the  boy  cried  out,  almost 
screaming  with  terror,  "  Let  me 
alone  !  let  me  alone !  They  '11  give 
it  me  worse  if  you  do,  and  they  '11 
serve  you  out  too  !  " 

"  But  you  will  die,  boy.  Look  at 
his  poor  lips !  " 

"  No.  no,  no  !    I  sha'  n't  die  !    No 


72 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


such  luck!"  cried  the  hoy,  impatient- 
ly and  wildly.  "  Thank  you  for 
s'peakint;  kind  to  me.  Who  are  you? 
tell  me  quick,  and  ,<:o.  I  am  —  Jo- 
sephs, No.  lo,  Corridor  A." 

"I  am  Rohinsoii,  No.  19,  Cor- 
ridor B." 

"  Good  I\v,  Kohinson,  I  sha'  n't  for- 
pet  you.  Hark,  the  door  !  Go  !  go  ! 
go  !  go  !  go !  " 

Robinson  was  already  gone.  He 
had  Hed  at  tlie  first  click  of  a  key  in 
the  outward  door,  and  darted  into  his 
cell  at  the  moment  Fry  got  into  the 
yard.  An  instinct  of  su>;piciou  led 
ihis  man  straii^^ht  to  Robinson's  her- 
mitage. He  found  him  hard  at  work. 
Fry  >crutinizcd  his  countenance,  but 
Kobmson  was  too  good  an  actor  to 
betray  himself;  only  wlien  Fry  passed 
on  he  drew  a  long  breath.  What  he 
had  seen  surprised  as  well  as  alarmed 
him,  for  he  had  always  been  told  the 
new  system  {li->couragcd  personal  vio- 
lence of  all  sorts  ;  and  in  all  his  expe- 
rience of  tiie  old  jails,  he  had  never 
seen  a  prisoner  abuseil  so  savagely  as 
the  young  martyr  in  the  adjoining 
cell.  His  own  work  done,  he  left  for 
liis  own  dormitory.  He  was  uneasy, 
and  his  heart  was  heavy  for  poor  Jo- 
sephs, but  he  dared  not  even  cast  a 
look  towards  his  place  of  torture,  for 
the  other  executioners  had  returned, 
and  Fry  followed  grim  at  his  heels 
like  a  mastiff  dogging  a  stranger  out 
of  the  premises. 

That  evening  Robinson  spent  in 
gloomy  reflections  and  forebodings. 
"  I  wish  I  was  in  the  hulks,  or  any- 
■where  out  of  tliis  place,"  said  he.  As 
for  Jo.se])hs,  the  governor,  after  in- 
specting his  torture  for  a  lew  mi»iutes, 
left  the  yard  again  with  his  sul)ordi- 
iiates,  and  Joseplis  was  left  alone 
with  his  great  torture  for  two  hours 
more ;  then  Hodges  came  in  and  be- 
gan to  loose  him,  swearing  at  him  all 
the  tiuK'  for  a  little  rebellious  monkey 
tint  giive  more  trouble  tlian  enough. 
The  rebelliou-i  monkey  made  no  an- 
sw^er,  but  crawled  slowly  away  to  his 
dungeon,  shivering  in  his  drenclied 
clotiies,  stiff  and  sore,  his  bones  full 


of  pain,  his  heart  full  of  desponden- 
cy- 
Robinson  had  now  eight  thousand 
turns  of  the  crank  per  day,  and  very 
hard  work  he  found  it  ;  but  he  pre- 
ferred it  to  being  buried  alive  all  d.iy 
in  his  lell  ;  and,  warned  by  Joscph>'s 
late,  he  went  at  the  crank  with  all  his 
soul,  and  never  gave  them  an  excuse 
for  calling  him  "  rei'ractory."  It  hap- 
pened, however,  one  day,  just  after 
breakfast,  that  lie  was  taken  with  a 
headache  and  shivering  ;  and  not 
getting  better  after  chapel,  hut  rather 
worse,  he  rang  his  bell,  and  begged 
to  see  the  suigeon.  The  surgeon 
ought  to  have  been  in  the  jail  at  this 
hour  :  he  was  not,  though,  and,  as  ho 
had  been  the  dsiy  before,  and  was  jic- 
custonicd  to  neglect  the  ])risoners  for 
any  one  who  ]iaid  better,  he  was  not 
exjjected  this  day.  !Soon  after  Fry 
came  to  the  cell,  and  ordered  Robin- 
son out  to  the  crank.  Robinson  told 
him  he  was  too  ill  to  work. 

"  I  must  have  the  surgeon's  author- 
ity for  that,  before  I  listen  to  it,"  re- 
plied Fry,  amateur  of  routine. 

"  But  he  is  not  in  the  jail,  or  you 
would  have  it." 

"  ^riien  he  ought  to  be." 
"  Well,  is  it  my  fault  he's  shirking 
his  duty  ?  Send  for  him,  and  you  'II 
see  he  Avill  tell  you  I  am  not  fit  for 
the  crank  to-day  ;  my  he;td  is  split- 
ting." 

"  Come,  no  gammon.  No.  19  ;  it  is 
the  crank,  or  the  jacket,  or  else  the 
black-hole.  So,  take  which  you  like 
best." 

Robinson  rose  with  a  groan  of  pain 
and  despondency. 

"  It  is  only  eight  thotisand  woriU 
you  have  got  to  say  to  it,  and  that  is 
not  many  for  such  a  tongue  as  yours." 
At  the  end  of  the  time  Fry  came  to 
the  inouth  of  the  labor-cell  with  agriin 
chuckle  :  "  He  will  never  have  done 
his  number  this  time."  He  found 
Robinson  kneeling  on  the  ground, 
almost  insensible,  t!ie  crank -handle 
convuUively  grasped  in  his  hands. 
Fry's  first  glance  was  at  this  figure, 
that  a  painter  might  have  taken  for  a 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


73 


picture  of  labor  overtasked;  but  this 
was  neither  iie\v  nor  interesting  to 
Fry.  lie  went  eagerly  .o  examine 
the  njeter  of"  the  crank,  ^ — there  hiy 
his  heart,  such  as  it  was,  —  and  to  his 
sorrow  he  found  that  No.  19  had  done 
Iiis  work  before  he  broke  down.  What 
it  cost  the  poor,  fever-stricken  wretch 
to  do  it  can  easier  be  imagined  than 
described. 

They  assisted  Kobinson  to  his  cell, 
and  that  night  he  was  in  a  burning 
fever.  The  next  day  the  surgeon 
liappened  by  some  accident  to  be  at 
his  post,  an(i  prescribed  change  of  diet 
and  medicines  for  him.  "  He  would 
be  l)etter  in  the  infirmary." 

"  Wliy  ?  "  said  the  governor. 

"  More  air." 

"  Nonsense,  there  is  plenty  of  air 
here  :  there  is  a  constant  stream  of 
air  comes  in  through  this,"  and  he 
])ointed  to  a  i-evolving  cylinder  in  the 
window  constructed  for  that  purpose. 
"  You  give  him  the  right  stutF,  doc- 
tor," said  Hawes,  jocosely,  "  and  he 
won't  slip  his  Avind  this  time." 

The  surgeon  acquiesced  according 
'to  custom. 

It  was  not  for  him  to  contradict 
H:iwes,  who  allowed  him  to  attend  the 
jail  or  neglect  it  according  to  his  con- 
venience, i.  e.  to  come  tluee  or  four 
times  a  week  at  ditferent  hours,  in- 
stead of  twice  every  day  at  fixed  hours. 

It  was  two  days  after  this  that  the 
governor  saw  Hodges  come  out  of  a 
cell,  hiuuhing. 

"  What  are  ye  grinning  atl"  said 
he,  in  liis  amiable  Avay. 

"No.  19  is  light-headed,  sir,  and  I 
have  been  listening  to  him.  It  would 
make  a  cat  laugh,"  said  Hodges,  apol- 
ogetically. He  knew  avcU  enough 
the  governor  did  not  approve  of  laugh- 
ing in  the  jail. 

The  governor  said  nothing,  but 
made  a  motion  with  his  hand,  and 
Hodges  opened  cell  1 9,  and  they  both 
went  in. 

No.  19  lay  on  his  back  flushed  and 
restless,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  va- 
cancy. He  Avas  talking  incessantly, 
and  without  sequence.     I  should  fail 


signally,  Avero  I  to  attempt  to  transfer 
his  words  to  paper.  I  feel  my  weak- 
ness, and  the  strength  of  others  who, 
in  my  day,  have  shoAvn  a  singular 
power  of  fixing  on  paper  tlie  volatile 
particles  of  frenzy ;  however,  in  a 
word,  the  poor  thief  Avas  talking  as 
our  poetasters  write,  and  amidst  his 
gunpowder,  daffodils,  bosh,  and  other 
constellations,  there  mingled  gleams 
of  sense  and  feeling  that  Avould  haA'e 
made  you  and  me  A'ery  sad. 

He  often  recurred  to  a  girl  he  called 
Mary,  and  said  a  few  gentle  Avords  to 
her  ;  then  oif  again  into  the  wildest 
fliglits.  While  Mr.  Hawes  and  his 
myrmidons  were  laughing  at  him,  he 
suddenly  fixed  his  eyes  on  some  im- 
aginary figure  on  the  opposite  Avail, 
and  began  to  cry  out  loudly  :  "  Take 
him  down.  Don't  you  see  you  are 
killing  him  !     The  collar  is  chokinir 


him  !     See   hoAV   white   he 


His 


eyes  stare  !  The  boy  Avill  die  !  Mur- 
der !  murder  !  murder  !  I  can't  bear 
to  see  him  die."  And  with  these 
words  he  buried  his  head  in  the  bed- 
clothes. 

Mr.  Hawes  looked  at  Mr.  Fry ;  Mr. 
Fry  answered  the  look  :  "  He  must 
have  seen  Josephs  the  other  day." 

"  Ay  !  he  is  mighty  curious.  Well, 
Avhen  he  gets  Avell !  "  and,  shaking  his 
fist  at  the  sutFerer,  Mr.  Hawes  Avent 
out  of  the  cell  soon  after. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  What  is  your  report  about  No. 
19,  doctor?  " 

"  The  fever  is  gone." 

"  He  is  well,  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  Avell  of  the  fever,  but  a  fever 
leaves  the  patient  in  a  state  of  debility 
for  some  days.  I  have  ordered  him 
meat  tAvice  a  day,  —  that  is,  meat  once 
and  soup  once." 

"  Then  you  report  him  cured  of  his 
fever  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Hodges,  put  No.  19  on  the  crank." 

"  Yes,  sir." 


74 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


Even  the  sure^con  opened  his  eyes 
at  this.  "  Why,  he  is  as  weak  as  a 
child."  said  he. 

"  Will  it  kill  him?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  and  for  tlie  hest  of 
all  reasons.    lie  can't  possibly  Mo  it." 

"  You  don't  know  what  thc.^e  fel- 
lows can  do  when  they  are  forced." 

The  sur<;eon  sliru^r^^ed  his  shoulders 
and  ])assed  on  to  his  other  ]>  licnts. 
llohinson  was  taken  out  into  the  yard. 
"  Wliat  a  hiessinj;  the  fresh  air  is  ! " 
said  he,  gulping  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  yard.  '•  I  should  have  got  well 
long  airo  if  I  had  not  heen  stifled  in 
my  cell  ibr  want  of  room  and  air." 

Robinson  went  to  the  crank  in  good 
spirits  ;  he  did  not  know  how  weak  he 
was  till  he  began  to  work  ;  hut  he 
soon  found  out  he  could  not  do  the 
task  in  the  time.  He  thought  there- 
fore the  wisest  plan  would  be  not  to 
exhaust  himself  in  vain  efforts,  and  he 
sat  quietly  down  and  did  nothing. 
In  this  posture  he  was  found  by 
Hawes  and  his  myrmidons. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  not 
working  ? " 

"  Sir,  I  am  only  just  getting  well 
of  a  fever,  and  I  am  as  weak  as 
water." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  are  not  try- 
ing to  do  anything,  eh  1  " 

"  I  have  tried,  sir,  and  it  is  impos- 
sihle.  I  am  not  tit  to  turn  this  heavy 
crank." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  try  if  I  can't 
make  you.     Fetch  the  j.uket." 

"  Oh  !  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  tor- 
ture me,  sir.  There  is  nobody  niori> 
willing  to  work  than  I  atn.  And,  if 
you  will  but  give  me  a  day  or  two  to 
get  my  strength  alter  the  fever,  you 
shall  see  how  I  will  work," 

"  There  !  there ! your  palaver! 

Strup  him  up." 

He  was  in  no  condition  to  resist,  and 
moreover  knew  resistan<'e  was  useless. 
They  jjimmed  him  in  the  jacket, 
pinned  Idin  tight  to  the  wall,  and  throt- 
tled him  in  the  collar.  This  collar, 
by  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  was  maiie 
with  imbound  edges,  so  that  when  the 
victim,  exhausted  with  the  cruel  cramp 


that  racked  his  aching  hones  in  the 
fierce  gripe  of  Ihiwc^'s  infernal  ma- 
chine, sank  his  heavy  head  and  druopcd 
his  chin,  the  jagged  collar  sawed 
him  directly,  and,  lacerating  the  flesli, 
drove  him  away  from  even  this  miser- 
able ajjproach  to  ease.  Kobinson  h;id 
formed  no  idea  of  the  torture.  The 
victims  of  the  Inquisition  would  have 
gained  but  little  by  becoming  the  vic- 
tims of  the  separate  and  silent  system 
in Jail. 

They  left  the  poor  fellow  pinned 
to  the  wall,  jammed  in  the  strait- 
waistcoat,  and  throttled  in  the  round 
saw.  Weakened  by  fever  and  un- 
natural exertion,  he  succumbed  soon- 
er than  the  inquisitors  had  calculated 
upon.  The  next  time  they  came  into 
the  yard  they  found  him  black  in  the 
face,  his  lips  livid,  insensible,  throt- 
tled, and  dying.  Another  half-min- 
ute and  there  would  have  hung  a 
corpse  in  the  Hawes  pillory. 

When  they  saw  how  nearly  he  wns 
gone  they  were  all  at  him  together. 
One  nnclasped  the  saw  collar,  one 
unbraced  the  waistcoat,  another 
sprinkled  water  over  him,  —  not  a 
bucketful  Jhis  time,  because  they 
would  have  wetted  themselves.  Ke- 
lea-^cd  from  the  infernal  machine,  the 
body  of  No.  19  fell  like  a  lump  of 
clay  u|)on  the  men  who  had  reduced 
him  to  this  condition.  Then  these 
worthies  were  in  e^oine  little  trepida- 
tion ;  for,  1  hough  they  had  cjiused  the 
death  of  many  men  during  the  last 
two  years,  they  had  not  yet  as  it  hap- 
pened murdered  a  single  one  on  the 
spot,  openly  and  h()ne>tly  like  this  ; 
and  they  feared  they  might  get  into 
trouble  Adjoining  the  y:ird  was  a 
bath-room  :  to  this  they  carried  No. 
19;  they  stripped  him,  and  let  the 
water  run  upon  him  from  the  cock, 
but  he  did  not  come  to;  then  they 
scrublied  hiin,  just  as  they  would  a 
brick  floor,  wish  a  h:ird  brush  upon 
the  back  till  his  flesh  was  as  red  as 
blood  ;  with  this  and  the  water  to- 
gether he  began  to  gasp  and  sigh  and 
faintly  come  back  from  insen.-ibiliiy 
to  a  new  set  of  tortures  ;  but  so  long 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


75 


"was  the  struj^f^le  between  life  and 
death,  that  tliese  men  of  business 
detained  thus  unconscionably  about  a 
sini^le  thief  lost  all  patience  with  him  ; 
one  scrubbed  him  till  the  blood  came 
under  the  bristles,  another  seized  him 
by  the  hair  of  his  head  and  jerked 
his  head  violently  back  several  times, 
and  this  gave  him  such  pain  that  he 
began  to  struggle  instinctively,  and, 
the  blood  now  fairly  set  in  motion,  he 
soon  moved.  The  last  thing  he 
remembered  was  a  body  full  of  ach- 
ing bones ;  the  first  he  awoke  to  was 
the  sensation  of  being  flayed  alive 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the 
sole  of  his  foot. 

The  first  word  he  heard  was,  "Put 
his  clothes  on  his  shamming  car- 
cass ! " 

"  Shall  we  dry  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  Dry  him  !  "  roared  the  governor, 
with  an  oath.  "  No  !  Has  n't  he 
given  us  trouble  enough  1  "  (Another 
oath.) 

They  flung  his  clothes  upon  his 
red-hot  dripping  skin,  and  Hodges 
gave  him  a  brutal  push.  "  Go  to 
your  cell."  Robinson  crawled  off", 
often  wincing,  and  trying  in  vain  to 
keep  his  clothes  from  rubbing  those 
parts  of  his  person  where  they  had 
scrubbed  the  skin  otf  him. 

Hawes  eyed  him  with  grim  superi- 
ority. Suddenly  he  had  an  inspira- 
tion. "Come  back!"  shouted  he. 
"  I  never  was  beat  by  a  prisoner  yet, 
and  I  never  will.  Strap  liim  uj)." 
At  this  command  even  the  turnkeys 
looked  amazed  at  one  another,  and 
hesitated.  Then  the  governor  swore 
horribly  at  them,  and  Hodges  with- 
out another  word  went  for  the  jack- 
et. 

They  took  hold  of  him  ;  he  made 
no  resistance;  he  never  even  looked 
at  them.  He  never  took  his  eye  otf 
Hawes ;  on  him  his  eye  fastened  like 
a  basilisk.  They  took  him  away,  and 
pinioned,  jammed,  and  throttled  him 
to  the  wall  again.  Hodges  was  set  to 
watch  him,  and  a  bu<ket  of  water  near 
to  throw  over  him  should  he  show  the 
least  sign  of  shamming  again.     In  an 


hour  another  turnkey  came  and  re- 
lieved Hodges,  —  in  another  hour  Fry 
relieved  him,  for  this  was  tiresome 
work  for  a  poor  turnkey,  —  in  another 
hour  a  new  hand  relieved  Fry,  but 
noliody  relieved  No.  19. 

Five  mortal  hours  had  he  been  in 
the  vice  without  shamming.  The  pain 
his  skin  suffered  from  the  late  reme- 
dies, and  the  deadly  rage  at  his  heart, 
gave  him  unnatural  powers  of  resist- 
ance, but  at  last  the  infernal  machine 
conquered,  and  he  began  to  turn  dead 
faint;  then  Hodges,  his  sentinel  at 
the  time,  caught  up  the  bucket  and 
dashed  the  whole  contents  over  him. 
The  effect  was  magical ;  the  shock 
took  away  his  breath  for  a  moment, 
but  the  next  the  blood  seemed  to  glow 
with  fire  in  his  veins,  and  he  felt  a 
general  access  of  vigor  to  b^ar  his  tor- 
ture. When  this  man  had  been  six 
hours  in  the  vice  the  governor  and  his 
myrmidons  came  into  the  yard  and  un- 
strapped him. 

"  You  did  not  beat^pie,  you  see,  af- 
ter all,"  said  the  governor  to  No.  19. 
The  turnkeys  heard  and  revered  their 
chief.  No.  19  looked  him  full  in  the 
face  with  an  eye  glittering  like  a  sabre, 
but  said  no  word. 

"  Sulky  brute  !  "  cried  the  governor, 
"lock  him  up  "  (oath).  And  that 
evening,  as  a  warder  was  rolling  the 
prisoner's  supper  alwig  the  little  nat- 
ural railway  made  by  the  two  railings 
of  corridor  B,  the  governor  stopped 
the  carriage  and  asked  for  19's  tin. 
It  was  given  him,  and  he  abstracted 
one  half  of  the  man's  gruel.  "  Re- 
fractory in  the  yard  to-day  ;  but  I  '11 
break  him  before  I  've  done  with  him  " 
(oath). 

The  next  day,  brushes  were  wanted 
for  the  jail.  This  saved  Robinson 
for  that  day.  It  was  little  Josephs's 
turn  to  suffer.  The  governor  put  him 
on  a  favorite  crank  of  his,  and  gave 
him  eight  tliou:>:and  turns  to  do  in  four 
hours  and  a  half.  He  knew  the  l)oy 
could  not  do  it.  and  this  was  only  a 
formula  he  Avent  througli  previous  to 
pillorying  the  lad.  Jose])hs  had  been 
in  the  pillory  about  an  hour,  when  it 


76 


T  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


80  happened  that  the  Reverend  John 
Jones,  tlie  diaphiiii  of  the  jail,  came 
into  the  yard.  Set-inj;  a  icroup  of 
warders  at  the  mouth  of  a  hibor-cell, 
he  walked  up  to  them,  and  there  was 
Joscjdis  in  peine  forte  et  dure. 

"  What  is  this  lad's  otfence  1  "  in- 
quired Mr.  Jones. 

"  Refraetory  at  the  crank,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Why,  Josephs,"  said  the  reverend 
gentleman,  "  you  told  me  you  would 
always  do  your  best." 

"  So  I  do,  your  reverence,"  gasped 
Josei)hs,  "  hut  this  crank  is  too  heavy 
for  a  lad  like  me,  and  that  is  why  1 
am  put  on  it  to  get  punished." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Hodges, 
roughly. 

"  Why  is  he  to  hold  his  tongue,  Mr. 


Hodi 


said  the  chaplain,  quietly  ; 


"  how  is  he  to  answer  my  question  if 
he  holds  his  tongue  7  You  forget 
yourself." 

"  Ugh  !  beg  5'our  pardon,  sir,  but 
this  one  has  always  got  some  excuse 
or  other." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  roared  a 
rough  voice  behind  the  s})eakers. 
This  was  Hawes,  who  had  approached 
them  unobserved. 

"He  is  gammoning  his  reverence, 
sir,  —  that  is  all." 

"  What  has  he  been  saying  ?  " 

"  That  the  cAnk  is  too  heavy  for 
him,  sir,  and  the  waistcoat  is  strapped 
too  tiirht,  it  seems." 

"  Who  says  so  1  " 

"  I  think  so,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"  Will  you  take  a  bit  of  advice, 
sir?  If  you  wish  a  prisoner  well, 
don't  you  come  between  him  and  me. 
It  will  always  be  the  worse  for  him, 
for  I  am  master  here,  and  master  I 
will  be." 

"  Mr.  Hawes,"  replied  the  chaplain, 
"I  have  never  done  or  said  anything 
in  the  prison  to  lessen  your  authority, 
but  p  ivatfly  I  must  remonstrate 
aj;ainst  the  uncommon  severities  prac- 
tised upon  prisoners  in  this  jail.  If 
you  will  listen  to  me  I  shall  be  much 
obliged  to  you  ;  if  not,  I  am  afraid  I 
must,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  call 


the  attention  of  the  visiting  justices  to 
the  question." 

"  Well,  ]jarson,  the  justices  will  1)0 
in  the  jail  to-day  ;  you  tell  them  your 
story  and  I  will  tell  them  mine,"  said 
Hawes,  with  a  cool  air  of  defiance. 

Sure  enough,  at  Ihe  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  two  of  the  visiting  justices 
arrived,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Wright, 
a  young  magistrate.  They  were  met 
at  the  door  by  Hawes,  w  ho  wore  a 
look  of  delight  at  their  appearance. 
They  went  round  the  prison  with  him, 
whilst  he  detained  them  in  the  centre 
of  the  building  till  he  had  sent 
Hodges  secretly  to  undo  Josephs  and 
set  him  on  the  crank  ;  and  here  the 
party  found  him  at  work. 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time  on 
the  crank,  my  lad,"  said  Hawes  ;  "  you 
may  go  to  your  cell." 

Josephs  touched  his  cap  to  the  gov- 
ernor and  the  gentlemen,  and  went 
off. 

"  That  is  a  nice,  quiet-looking  boy," 
said  one  of  the  justices;  "what  is 
he  in  for  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  this  time  for  stealing  a 
piece  of  beef  out  of  a  butcher's 
shop." 

"  This  time  !  what  !  is  he  a  hard- 
ened offender  ?  he  does  not  look 
it." 

"  He  has  been  three  times  in  pris- 
on ;  once  for  throwing  stones,  once 
for  orchard-robbing,  and  this  time  for 
the  beef." 

"  What  a  young  villain !  at  his 
age  —  " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Williams,"  said 
Mr.  Wright,  dryly  ;  "  you  and  I  were 
just  as  great  villains  at  his  age. 
Did  n't  we  throw  stones  ?  rather  !  ". 

Hawes  laughed  in  an  adulatory 
manner,  but,  observing  that  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, who  was  a  grave,  poniptius 
personage,  did  not  smile  at  all,  lie 
added  :  — 

"  Bur  not  to  do  mischief  like  this 
one,  I  '11  be  bound." 

*'  No,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  with  an 
air  of  ruffled  dignity. 

"  No  ?  "  cried  the  otiier,  "  where  is 
your    memory  ?      Why,    we    threw 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


77 


stones  at  everything  and  everybody, 
and  I  sujjpose  we  did  not  always 
miss,  ch  ?  I  remember  your  throwing 
a  stone  throu^li  the  window  of  a  place 
of  worship  (iliis  was  a  bc-hoolfellow 
of  mine,  and  k'd  me  into  all  sorts  of 
wickedness)  :  I  say,  was  it  a  Wesley- 
an  shop,  Williams,  or  a  Baptist  ?  i'or 
I  forget.  Never  mind,  you  had  a  fit 
of  orthodoxy.  What  was  the  young 
villain's  second  offence  1  " 

"  Robbing  an  orchard,  sir." 

"  The  scoundrel !  robbing  an  or- 
chard ?  O  what  sweet  reminiscences 
those  words  recall.  I  say,  Williams, 
do  you  remember  us  two  robbing 
Farmer  Harris's  orchard  ?  " 

"  I  remember  you  robbing  it,  and 
my  character  suffering  for  it." 

"  I  don't  remember  that;  but  I  re- 
member my  climbing  the  pear-tree, 
and  flinginii"  the  pears  down,  and  find- 
ing them  all  grabbed  on  my  descent. 
What  is  the  young  villain's  next,  — 
0,  snapping  a  piece  off  a  counter. 
Ah  !  we  never  did  that,  because  we 
could  always  get  it  without  stealing  it." 

Witli  this  Mr.  Wright  strolled  away 
from  the  others,  having  had  what  the 
jocose  wretch  used  to  call  "  a  slap  at 
humbug." 

His  absence  was  a  relief  to  the  others. 
The,-e  did  not  come  there  to  utter 
sense  in  fun,  but  to  jest  in  sober  ear- 
nest. 

Mr.  Williams  hinted  as  much,  and 
Havves,  whose  cue  it  was  to  assent  in 
everything  to  the  justices,  brightened 
his  face  up  at  the  remark. 

"  Will  you  visit  the  cells,  gentle- 
men," said  he,  with  an  accent  of  cor- 
dial invitation,  "  or  inspect  the  book 
first  ? " 

They  gave  precedence  to  the  lat- 
ter. 

By  the  book  was  meant  the  log-book 
of  the  jail.  In  it  the  governor  was 
required  to  report  for  the  justices  and 
the  Home  Office  all  jail  events  a  little 
out  of  the  usual  routine.  For  in- 
stance, all  punishments  of  prisoners, 
all  considerable  sicknesses,  deaths, 
and  their  supposed  causes,  etc.,  etc. 

"  This  Josephs  seems  by  the  book 


to  be  an  ill-conditioned  fellow,  he  is 
often  down  for  punishment." 

"  Yes  !  he  hates  work.  About  Gil- 
lies, sir,  —  ringing  his  bell,  and  pre- 
tending it  was  an  accident?  " 

"  Yes  !  how  old  is  he  ?  " 

"Thirteen." 

"  Is  this  his  first  offence  ?  " 

"  Not  by  a  good  many.  I  think, 
gentlemen,  if  you  were  to  order  him  a 
flogging,  it  would  be  better  for  him  in 
the  end." 

"  Well,  give  him  twenty  lashes. 
Eh!  Palmer?" 

Mr.  Palmer  assented  by  a  nod. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said 
Hawes,  "  but  will  you  allow  me  to 
make  a  remark  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Hawes,  certainly .' " 

"  I  find  twenty  bishes  all  at  once 
rather  too  much  for  a  lad  of  that  age. 
Now,  if  you  would  allow  me  to  divide 
the  punishment  into  two,  so  that  his 
health  might  not  be  endangered  by 
it,  then  we  could  give  him  ten,  or 
even  twelve,  and  after  a  day  or  two  as 
many  more." 

"  That  speaks  well  for  your  hu- 
manity, Mr.  Havves ;  your  zeal  we  have 
long  known." 

"  Augh,  sir  !  sir  !  " 

"I  will  sign  the  order, — and  we 
authorize  you  here  to  divide  the  pun- 
ishment according  to  your  own  sug- 
gestion "  —  (order  signed). 

The  justice  then  went  round  the 
cells  accompanied  by  Hawes.  They 
went  into  the  cells  with  an  expres- 
sion of  a  little  curiosity  but  more  re- 
pugnance on  their  foces,  and  asked 
several  prisoners  if  they  were  well 
and  contented.  The  men  looked 
with  the  shrewdness  of  their  class  in- 
to their  visitors'  faces  and  measured 
them  :  saw  there,  first,  a  feeble  un- 
derstanding, secondly,  an  adamantine 
prejudice;  saw  that  in  those  eyes 
they  were  wild  beasts  and  Hawes  an 
angel,  and  answered  to  please  Hawes, 
wliose  eye  was  fixed  on  them  all  this 
time  and  in  whose  power  they  felt 
they  were. 

AH  expressed  their  content :  some 
in  tones    so   languid   and   empty  of 


78 


T  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


heart  that  none  but  Justice  Shallow 
could  have  lielped  seeing  through  the 
lunnl)Ug.  Others  did  it  better  ;  and 
not  a  tlw  ovt-rdid  it,  so  thit  any  but 
Justice  Shallow  would  have  seen 
through  theui.  These  last  told 
Mes>rs.  Shallow  and  Slender  that 
the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to 

them  was  coming  to Jail.    They 

thanked  Heaven  they  had  been 
pulled  up  short  in  an  evil  career  that 
must  have  ended  in  their  ruin,  body 
and  soul.  As  tor  their  present  situa- 
tion, they  were  never  happier  in  their 
lives,  and  some  of  them  doubted 
much  whether,  when  they  should 
reach  the  penal  settlements,  the  ac- 
cess of  liberty  would  repay  them  for 
the  increased  temptations  and  the 
loss  of  quiet  meditation  and  self-com- 
munion, and  the  good  advice  of  Mr. 
Hawes,  and  of  his  reverence  the 
chaplain. 

The  jail-birds  who  piped  this  tune 
were,  without  a  single  exception,  the 
desperate  cases  of  this  moral  hospi- 
tal ;  they  were  old  oti'enders,  —  hard- 
ened scoundrels  who  meant  to  rob 
and  kill  and  deceive  to  their  dying 
day.  AVhile  in  prison  their  game 
was  to  be  as  comfortable  as  they 
could.  Hawes  could  make  them  un- 
comfortable ;  he  was  always  there. 
Under  these  circumstances,  to  lie 
came  on  the  instant  as  natural  to 
them  as  to  rob  would  have  come  had 
some  power  transported  them  out- 
side the  prison  doors,  with  these  words 
of  penitence  on  their  lips. 

They  asked  where  that  Josephs's 
cell  was.  Hawes  took  them  to  him. 
They  inspected  him  with  a  profound 
zoological  look,  to  see  whether  it  was 
more  wolf  or  badger.  Strange  to 
say  it  looked  neither,  but  a  simple, 
quiet  youth  of  the  human  genus, — 
species  snob. 

"  He  is  very  small  to  be  such  a 
ruffian,"  said  Mr.  Palmer. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Josephs,"  said  Mr. 
Williams,  pompously,  "  to  find  your 
name  so  often  down  for  punish- 
ment." 

Josephs  looked  up,  hoping   to  see 


the  light  of  sympathy  in  this  speak- 
er's eyes.  He  saw  two  owls'  faces 
attempting  eagle  but  not  reaching  up 
to  sparrow-hawk,  and  he  was  silent. 
He  had  no  hope  of  being  believed; 
moreover,  the  grim  eye  of  Hawes 
rested  on  him,  and  no  feebleness  in  it. 

Messrs.  Shallow  and  Slender  re- 
ceiving no  aub'wer  from  Josephs,  who 
was  afraid  to  tell  the  truth,  were  net- 
tled, and  left  the  cell  shrugging  their 
shoulders. 

In  the  corridor  they  met  the  train 
just  coming  along  the  banisters  with 
supper.  Pompous  Mr.  Williams  tast- 
ed the  prison  diet  on  the  spot. 

"  It  is  excellent,"  cried  he  ;  "  why, 
the  gruel  is  like  glue."  And  he  fell 
into  meditation. 

"  So  far,  everything  is  as  we  could 
wish,  Mr.  Hawes,  and  it  speaks  well 
for  the  discipline  and  for  yourself." 

Hawes  bowed  with  a  gratified  air. 

"  I  will  complete  the  inspection  to- 
morrow." 

Hawes  accompanied  the  gentlemen 
to  the  outside  gate.  Here  Mr.  Wil- 
liams turned.  For  the  last  minute  or 
two  he  had  been  in  the  throes  of  an 
idea,  and  now  he  delivered  himself 
of  it. 

*'  It  would  be  well  if  Josephs's  gruel 
were  not  made  so  strong  for  him." 

Mr.  Williams  was  not  one  of  those 
who  often  say  a  great  thing,  but  this 
deserves  immortality,  and  could  I  con- 
fer immortality  this  of  Williams's 
should  never  die  !  Unlike  most  of  the 
things  we  say  it  does  not  deserve  ever 
to  die :  — 

"It  would  be  well  if  Josephs's 
gruel  weke  not  made  so  strong 

FOR  HIM  !  !  " 

« 

CHAPTER  XII. 

"  Will  you  eat  your  mutton  with 
me  to-day,  Palmer?"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, at  the  gate  of  the  jail. 

"  1  should  be  very  haj)py,  but  I  am 
engaged  to  dine  with  the  lord-lieuten- 
ant." 

So  Mr.  Williams  drove   home   to 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


79 


Ashtown  Park,  and  had  to  sit  down  to 
dinner  with  his  own  small  family 
party. 

i\lr.  Williams's  mutton  consisted  of 
first  a  little  stronjx  «i;ravy  soup  lubri- 
cated and  gelatinized  with  a  little  tap- 
ioca ;  vis-a-cis  tlie  soup  a  little  pie<.e 
of  salmon  cut  out  of  the  fish's  centre  ; 
lobster  patties,  rissoles,  and  two  things 
with  French  names,  stinking  of  garlic, 
on  the  flank. 

Enter  a  boiled  turkey  poult  with 
delicate  white  sauce  ;  a  nice  tongue, 
not  too  green  nor  too  salt,  and  a  small 
saddle  of  six-tooth  mutton,  home-bred 
home-fed  ;  after  this  a  stewed  pigeon, 
faced  by  greengage  tart,  and  some 
yellow  cream  twenty-four  hours  old; 
item,  an  iced  pudding.  A  little  Stilton 
cheese  brought  up  the  rear  with  a 
nice  salad.  This  made  way  for  a 
foolish  trifling  dessert  of  muscadel 
grapes,  guava  jelly,  and  divers  kick- 
shaws diluted  with  agreeable  wines 
varied  by  a  little  glass  of  Mai-asquino 
and  Co.,  at  junctures.  So  fur  so  nice  ! 

But,  alas  !  nothing  is  complete  in 
this  world,  not  even  the  dinner  of  a 
fair  round  justice  with  fat  capon  lined. 
There  is  always  some  drawback  or 
deficiency  he. e  below  —  confound  it! 
the  wretcli  of  a  cook  had  forgotten  to 
send  up  the  gruel  a  la  Josephs. 

Next  day,  after  Mr.  Williams  had 
visited  the  female  prisoners,  and  com- 
plimented Hawes  on  having  initiated 
them  into  the  art  of  silence,  he  asked 
where  the  chaplain  was.  Hawes  in- 
stantly despatched  a  messenger  to  in- 
quire, and,  remembering  that  gentle- 
man's threatened  remonstrance,  par- 
ried him  by  anticipation  thus  :  — 

"  By  the  by,  sir,  I  have  a  little  com- 
plaint to  make  of  him." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Williams, 
"what  is  that?" 

"  He  took  a  prisoner's  part  against 
the  discipline;  but  he  d(jes  n't  know 
them,  and  they  humbug  him.  But, 
sir,  ouglit  he  to  preach  against  me  in 
the  chapel  of  the  jail  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  Surely  he  has  not 
been  gudty  of  such  a  breach  of  dis- 
cipline and  good  taste." 


"  Oh  !  but  wait,  sir,"  said  Hawes, 
hear  the  whole  truth,  and  then,  per- 
you  will  blame  me.  You  must 
know,  sir,  that  I  sometimes  let  out  an 
oad).  I  was  in  the  army,  and  we 
used  all  to  swear  there ;  and  now  a 
little  of  it  sticks  to  me  in  spite  of  my 
teeth,  and,  if  his  reverence  had  done  me 
the  honor  to  take  me  to  task  privately 
about  it,  I  would  have  taken  off  my 
hat  to  him  ;  but  it  is  another  thing 
to  go  and  preach  at  me  for  it  before 
all  the  jail." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  he  did  that?  " 

"  He  did,  sir.  Of  course  he  did  not 
mention  my  name,  but  he  preached 
tive-and-thirty  minutes  all  about 
swearing,  and  they  all  knew  who  he 
was  hitting.  I  could  see  the  warders 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  as  much  as 
to  say,  '  There 's  another  rap  for  you, 
governor ! ' " 

"  I  'II  speak  to  him." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  don't  be  hard 
on  him,  for  he  is  a  deserving  officer; 
but  if  you  would  give  him  a  quiet 
hint  not  to  interfere  with  me.  We 
have  all  of  us  plenty  to  do  of  our  own 
in  a  jail,  if  he  could  but  see  it.  Ah  ! 
here  comes  the  chajilain,  sir.  I  will 
leave  you  together,  if  you  please"; 
and  Mr.  Hawes  made  off  with  a  busi- 
ness air. 

The  chaplain  came  up  and  bowed 
to  Mr.  Williams,  who  saluted  him  in 
turn  somewhat  coldly.  There  was  a 
short  silence.  Mr.  Williams  was  con- 
cocting a  dignified  rebuke.  Before 
he  could  get  it  out  the  chaplain  be- 
gan :  — 

"  I  wished  to  speak  with  you  yes- 
terday, sir." 

"  l'  am  at  vour  service,  Mr.  Jones. 
What  is  it  ?  '' 

"  I  want  you  to  look  into  our  pun- 
ishments; they  are  far  more  numer- 
ous and  severe  than  they  used  to  be." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  tind  them  less 
numerous." 

"  Why,  there  is  one  punished  every 
day." 

"  I  have  been  carefully  over  the 
books,  and  I  assure  you  there  is  a 


80 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


marked   dcrrcnse  in   tlie    number   of 
puni>hmi'nts." 

"  Then  they  cannot  be  all  put 
down." 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Jones,  nonsense  !  " 
"Ami  then  tlie  severity  of  these 
punishments,  sir!  Is  it  your  wisli 
that  a  prisoner  slionld  be  stiap})ed  in 
the  jaeket  so  ti<;ht  that  we  cannot  yet 
a  finjxer  between  the  leather  and  his 
flesh  1  " 

"  Not  unless  he  is  refractory." 
"  Bur  prisoners  are  very  seldom  re- 
fractory." 

"  Indeed  !  that  is  news  to  me." 
"  I  assure  you,  sir,   there   are  no 
quieter   set   of    men   than    prisoners, 
generally.     They  know  there  is  noth- 
in;,^  to  be  o^ained  by  resistance." 

"  They  are  on  their  <:o<)d  behavior 
before  you.  You  don't  see  throuirh 
them,  my  good  sir.  They  are  like 
madmen,  —  you  would  take  them  for 
lambs  till  they  break  out.  Do  you 
know  a  prisoner  here  called  Jo- 
sephs ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  perfectly  well." 
"  Well  now,  what  is  his  character 
may  I  ask  1  " 

"  He  is  a  biild,  quiet,  docile 

LAD  " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  I  thought  so. 
Prisoners  are  the  refuse  of  the  earth. 
The  trovernor  knows  them,  and  how 
to  manage  them.  A  discretion  must 
be  allowed  him,  and  I  see  no  reason 
to  interfere  between  him  and  refrac- 
tory prisoners  except  when  he  invites 
us." 

"  You  are  aware  that  several  at- 
tempts at  suicide  have  been  made 
withr;i  the  last  few  months  "?  " 

"  Sham  attemi)ts,  yes." 

"  One  was  tiot  sham,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Jones,  gravely. 

"(),  Jackson,  you  mean.  No,  but 
he  was  a  lunatic,  and  would  liave 
made  away  with  himself  anywhere. 
Hawes  is  convinced  of  that" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  told  you  the 
fact ;  I  have  remonstrated  against  th.' 
uneonunnn  severities  ])ractised  in  this 
jail,  —  severities  unknown  in  Captain 
O'Connor's  day." 


"  And  I  have  received  and  an«:werod 
your  remonstrance,  sir,  and  thOie  t  <at 
matter  ought  to  end." 

This,  and  the  haughty  tone  with 
whicli  it  was  said,  discourag.-d  and 
nettled  the  chaplain  ;  he  turned  red, 
and  said  :  — 

"  In  that  case,  sir,  I  have  no  more 
to  say.  I  have  disehariied  my  con- 
science." With  these  words  he  was 
about  to  withdraw,  but  Mr.  Williams 
stopped  him. 

"  Mr.  Jones,  do  you  consider  a 
clergyman  justified  in  preaching  at 
peo])ie  ?  " 

"  (Vrtainly  not." 

"  The  pulpit  surely  ought  not  to  be 
made  a  handle  for  personality.  It  is 
not  the  way  to  make  the  pulpit  itself 
respected." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Hawes  is  much  hurt  at  a  ser- 
mon you  preached  against  him." 

"A  sermon  against  him,  —  nev- 
er !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  you  preached 
a  whole  sermon  against  swearing, — 
and  he  swears." 

"  O  yes  !  I  remember,  —  the  Sun- 
day before  last.  I  certainly  did  rep- 
robate in  my  discourse  the  habit  of 
swearing,  but  no  personality  to  Hawes 
was  intended." 

"  No  personality  intended  when  you 
know  he  swears  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  warders  swear  too. 
Why  should  Mr.  Hawes  take  it  all  to 
himself?  " 

"  O,  if  the  turnkeys  swear,  then  it 
was  not  so  strictly  personal" 

"  To  be  sure,"  put  in  Mr.  Jones, 
inadvertently  ;  "  I  believe  ti:ey  learned 
it  of  the  }iOvernor." 

"  There,  you  see!  Well,  and,  even 
if  they  did  not,  why  preach  against 
the  turnkeys?  why  preach  at  any  in- 
diviiluals,  or  upon  passing  events  at 
all?  I  can  renumlier  the  time  no 
clergyman  throughout  the  length  and 
breadiii  of  the  land  noticed  passing 
events  from  the  pulpit." 

"  I  am  as  far  from  approving  the 
practice  as  )ou  are,  sir." 

"  la  those  days,  the  clergy  and  the 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


81 


laity  respected  one  another,  and  there 
was  peace  in  the  Church." 

"  I  can  only  repeat,  sir,  that  I  agree 
with  you  ;  the  pulpit  should  be  con- 
secrated to  eternal  truths,  not  passing 
events." 

"  Good  !  very  good  !  Well,  then  ?  " 

"  What  Mr.  Hawes  complains  of 
was  a  mere  accident." 

''  An  accident,  Mr.  Jones  ?  O  Mr. 
Jones !  " 

"  An  accident,  which  I  undertake 
to  explain  to  Mr.  Hawes  himself." 

"  By  all  means ;  that  Avill  be  the 
best  way  of  making  friends  again.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  a  jail  could  not 
go  on,  in  which  the  governor  and  the 
chaplain  did  not  pull  together.  The 
fact  is,  Mr.  Jones,  the  clergy  of  late 
have  been  assuming  a  little  too  much, 
and  that  has  made  the  laity  a  little 
jealous.  Now,  although  you  are  a 
clergyman,  you  are  Her  Majesty's  ser- 
vant so  long  as  you  are  here,  and 
must  co-operate  with  the  general  sys- 
tem of  the  jail.  Come,  sir,  you  are 
younger  than  I  am  ;  let  me  give  you  a 
piece  of  advice,  —  '  Don't  overstep 
YOUR  duty'  etc." 

In  this  strain  Mr.  Williams  buzz, 
buzz,  buzzed  longer  than  I  can  afford 
him  paper,  it  is  so  dear.  He  pumped 
a  stream  of  time-honored  phrases  on 
his  hearer,  and  dissolved  away  with 
him  as  the  overflow  of  a  pump  carries 
away  a  straw  on  its  shallow  stream 
down  a  stable-yard. 

When  the  pump  was  pumped  dry, 
he  stopped. 

Then  the  chaplain,  who  had  listened 
with  singular  politeness,  got  in  a 
word.  "  Yoti  forget,  sir,  I  have  re- 
signed the  chaplaincy  of  the  jail  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  !  well,  then,  I  need 
say  no  more,  sir.  Good  day,  Mr. 
Jones." 

"  Good  morning,  sir." 

Soon  after  this  up  came  Hawes 
with  a  cheerful  countenance. 

"  Well,  parson,  are  you  to  manage 
the  prisoners  and  I  to  preach  to  them, 
or  are  we  to  go  on  as  we  are  ?  " 

*'  Things  are  to  go  on  as  they  are, 
Mr.  Hawes ;  but  that  is  nothing  to 
4  * 


me  :  I  have  discharged  my  con- 
science. I  have  remonstrated  against 
the  severities  practised  on  our  pris- 
oners. Cold  wati:r  has  been 
thrown  on  my  remonstrances, 
and  I  shall  therefore  interfere  no 
more." 

"  That  is  the  wise  way  to  look  at 
it,  you  may  depend  !  " 

"  We  shall  see  which  was  in  the 
right :  I  have  discharged  my  con- 
science. But,  Mr.  Hawes,  I  am  hurt 
you  should  say  I  preached  a  sermon 
against  you." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are,  sir  ;  but  who 
began  it  ?  If  you  had  not  talked  of 
complaining  to  the  justices  of  me,  I 
should  never  have  said  a  word  against 
you." 

"  That  is  all  settled ;  but  it  is  due 
to  my  character  to  show  you  that  I 
had  no  intention  of  pointing  at  you 
or  any  living  creature  from  the  pulpit." 

"  Well,  make  me  believe  that." 

"  If  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
come  to  my  room,  I  can  prove  it  to 
you." 

The  chaplain  took  the  governor  to 
his  room,  and  opened  two  drawers  in 
a  massive  table. 

"  Mr.  Hawes,"  said  he,  "  do  you 
see  this  pile  of  sermons  in  this  right- 
hand  drawer  1  " 

"  I  see  them,"  said  Hawes,  with  a 
doleful  air,  "and  I  suppose  I  shall 
hear  some  of  them  before  long." 

"  These,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  smiling 
with  perfect  good-humor  at  the  in- 
nocuous sneer,  "  are  sermons  I  com- 
posed when  I  Avas  curate  of  Little- 
Stoke.  Of  late  I  have  been  going 
regularly  through  m}'  Little-Stoke 
discourses,  as  you  may  see.  I  take 
one  from  the  pile  in  this  drawer,  and, 
after  first  preaching  it  in  the  jail,  I 
place  it  in  the  left  drawer  on  that 
smaller  pile." 

"  That  you  may  n't  preach  it  again 
by  accident  ?  Well,  that  is  business." 
' "  If  you  look  into  the  left  pile  near 
the  top,  you  will  find  the  one  I 
preached  against  profane  discourse, 
with  the  date  at  which  it  was  first 
composed." 


82 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


"  Here  it  is,  sir  :  Little  -  Stoke, 
May  15,  1847." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hawes,  now  was  that 
written  ai^iiinst  you  ?  — come  !  " 

"  No !  I  confess  it  could  not ;  but 
look  here,  if  u  man  sends  a  bullet  in- 
to me,  it  does  n't  matter,  to  me  whetii- 
er  he  made  the  jrun  on  purpose  or 
shot  me  out  of  an  old  one  that  he  had 
got  hy  him." 

"  But  I  tell  you  that  I  took  the  ser- 
mon out  in  its  turn,  and  knew  no 
more  what  it  was  about  imtil  I 
opened  it  in  the  pulpit  than  I  knew 
what  this  one  is  about  whieh  I  am 
go'uv^  to  preach  next  Sunday  morn- 
ing,—  it  was  all  cliance." 

"  It  was  my  bad  luck,  I  suppose," 
said  Hawes,  a  little  sulkily. 

'•  And  mine  too.  Could  I  anticipate 
that  a  discourse  composed  for  and 
preached  to  a  rural  congregation 
would  be  deemed  to  have  a  personal 
applicition  here  ?  " 

"  Well  !  no  !  " 

"  I  h  ive  now  only  to  add  that  I  ex- 
tremely regret  the  circumstance." 

"  Say  no  more,  sir.  W!ien  a  gen- 
tleman exi)resses  his  regret  to  anoth- 
er gentleman,  there  is  an  end  of  the 
grievance." 

"  I  will  take  care  the  sort  of  thing 
never  hap|)ens  again." 

'•  Enough  said,  sir." 

"  It  never  can,  however,  for  I  shall 
preach  but  one  moi'e  Sunday  here." 

"And  I  am  very  sorry  tor  it,  Mr. 
Jones." 

"And  after  this  occurrence  I  am 
determined  to  write  both  sermons  for 
the  occasion,  so  there  is  sure  to  be 
nothing  personal  in  them." 

"  Yq:^,  that  is  the  surest  wav  ;  well, 
sir,  you  and  I  never  had  but  this 
one  little  misunderstanding,  and  now 
that  is  explained,  we  shall  part 
friends." 

"  A  glass  of  ale,  Mr.  Hawes  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do,  sir"  (the 
glasses  were  filled  and  emptied).  "  I 
must  go  and  look  after  my  chickens  ; 
the  justices  have  ordered  Gillies  to  he 
flogged.  You  will  he  there  I  sup- 
pose ia  half  an  hour." 


"  Well,  if  my  attendance  is  not  ab- 
solutely necessary  —  " 

"  We  will  excuse  you,  sir,  if  not 
convenient." 

"Thank  you, — good  morning!" 
and  the  reconciled  otHcials  parted. 

Little  Gillies  was  hoisted  to  receive 
twenty  lashes  ;  at  the  twelfth  the  gov- 
ernor ordered  him  down. 

He  broke  otf  the  tale  as  our  maga- 
zines do,  with  a  promise,  "  To  be  con- 
tinued." 

Little  Gillies,  like  their  readers, 
cried  out,  "  No,  sir.  0  sir !  please 
Ro'^  me  to  an  end,  and  ha'  done  with 
it.  I  don't  feel  the  cuts  near  so  much 
now,  —  my  back  seems  dead  like." 

Little  Gillies  was  arguing  against 
himself.  Hawes  had  not  divided  his 
punishment  with  the  view  of  lessening 
his  pain.  It  was  droll,  but  more  sad 
than  droll,  to  hear  the  ))Oor  little  fel- 
low begging  Hawes  to  tiog  him  to  aa 
end,  to  flog  him  out ;  with  similar 
idioms. 

"  Hold  your  [oath]  noise !  "  Hawes 
shrank  with  disixust  from  noise  in  his 
prison,  and  could  not  comprehend 
why  the  prisoners  could  not  take  their 
punishments  without  infrimxing  upon 
the  great  and  ltIohous  silence  of  which 
the  jail  was  the  temple  and  he  the 
high  priest.  "  The  beggars  get  no 
good  by  kicking  up  a  row,"  argued 
he. 

"Hold  your  noise!  —  take  him  to 
his  cell !  " 

Whether  it  was  because  he  had 
desecrated  the  temple  with  noise,  or 
from  the  accident  of  having  attracted 
the  governor's  attention,  the  weight  of 
the  system  fell  on  this  small  object 
now. 

Gillies  was  ordered  to  mike  a  fabu- 
lous number  of  crank  revolutions, — 
fabulous,  at  least,  in  connection  with 
his  tender  au'c  ;  he  was  put  ou  the 
li<;htest  crank,  but  the  lightest  was 
heavy  to  thirteen  years.  Not  being 
the  inf  mt  Hercules,  he  could  nor  per- 
form this  lahor;  so  Hawes  ]mi  him  in 
jacket  and  collar  almost  tlie  whole 
day.  His  young  and  supple  frame 
was  in  his  favor,  but  once  or  twice  he 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


83 


could  hardly  help  shammin*:^,  and  then 
they  threw  half  a  bucket  over  him. 

The  next  day  he  was  put  on  the 
tnink,  and,  not  being  al)le  to  complete 
the  task  that  was  set  him  before  din- 
ner, he  was  strapped  up  until  the  even- 
ing. Tlie  next  day  the  governor  tried 
another  tack.  He  took  away  his  meat, 
soup,  and  gruel,  and  gave  him  nothing 
but  bread  and  water.  Strange  to  say, 
this  change  of  diet  did  not  supply  the 
deficiency ;  he  could  not  do  the  infant 
Hercules  his  work  even  on  bread  and 
water.  Then  the  governor  deprived 
the  obstinate  little  dog  of  his  chapel. 
"If  you  won't  work,  I  'm  [participle] 
if  you  sluiU  pray."  The  boy  missed 
the  recreation  of  hearing  Mr.  Jones 
hum  the  Liturgy  ;  missed  it  in  a  way 
you  cannot  conceive.  Your  soporific 
was  his  excitement ;  think  of  that. 

Little  Gillies  became  sadly  dispirit- 
ed, and  weaker  at  the  crank  than  be- 
fore ;  ergo,  the  governor  sentenced  him 
to  be  fourteen  days  without  bed  or 
gas. 

But,  when  they  took  away  his  bed 
and  did  not  light  his  gas,  little  Gillies 
hegan  to  lose  his  temper;  he  made  a 
great  row  about  this  last  stroke  of 
discipline.  "  I  won't  live  such  a  life 
as  this,"  said  little  Gillies,  in  a  pet. 
"  Why  don't  the  governor  hang  me  at 
once  1 " 

"  What  is  that  noise  ?  "  roared  the 
governor,  who  was  in  the  corridor, 
and  had  long  ears. 

"  It  is  No.  50  kicking  up  a  row  at 
having  his  bed  and  gas  taken,"  re- 
plied a  turnkey,  with  a  note  of  admi- 
ration in  his  voice. 

The  governor  bounced  into  the  cell. 
"  Are  you  grumbling  at  that,  you  re- 
bellious young  rascal  ?  you  forget 
there  are  a  dozen  lashes  owing  you 
yet."  Now  the  boy  had  not  forgot- 
ten, but  he  hoped  the  governor  had. 
"  Well,  you  shall  have  the  rest  to- 
morrow." 

With  these  words  ringing  in  his 
ears  little  Gillies  was  locked  up  for 
the  night  at  six  o'clock.  His  com- 
panions darkness  and  unrest,  —  for  a 
prisoner's  bed  is  the  most  comfortable 


thing  he  lias,  and  the  change  from  it 
to  a  stone  floor  is  as  great  to  him  as  it 
would  be  to  us,  —  darkness  and  unrest, 
and  the  cat  waiting  to  spring  on  him 
at  peep  of  day.  Quue  cum  ita  erant, 
as  the  warder  put  the  key  into  his  cell 
the  next  morning  he  heard  a  strange 
gurgling ;  he  opened  the  door  quickly, 
and  there  was  little  Gillies  hanging ; 
a  chair  was  near  him  on  which  he  had 
got  to  suspend  himself  by  his  hand- 
kerchief from  the  window;  he  was 
black  in  the  face,  but  struggling 
violently,  and  had  one  hand  above  his 
head  convulsively  clutching  the  hand- 
kerchief Fry  lifted  him  up  by  the 
knees,  and  with  some  difficulty  loosed 
the  handkerchief. 

Little  Gillies,  as  soon  as  his  throat 
could  vent  a  sound,  roared  with  fright 
at  the  recent  peril,  and  then  cried 
a  bit,  finally  expressed  a  hope  his 
breakfast  would  not  be  taken  from  him 
for  this  act  of  insubordination. 

This  infraction  of  discipline  was 
immediately  reported  to  the  governor. 

"Little  brute,"  cried  Hawes,  vi- 
ciously, "  I  '11  work  him  ! " 

"  O,  he  knew  I  was  at  hand,  sir," 
said  Fry,  "  or  he  would  not  have 
tried  it." 

"  Of  course  he  would  not ;  I  re- 
member last  night  he  was  grumbling 
at  his  bed  being  taken  away.  I  '11 
serve  him  out." 

Soon  after  this  the  governor  met 
the  chaplain,  and  told  him  the  case; 
"  He  shall  make  you  an  apology,"  — 
imperative  mood  him. 

"  Me,  an  apology  !  " 

*'  Of  course,  you  are  the  officer 
that  has  the  care  of  his  soul,  and  he 
shall  apologize  to  you  for  making 
away  with  it  or  trying  it  on." 

This  resolution  was  conveyed  to 
Gillies  with  fearful  threats,  so  when 
the  chaplain  visited  him  he  had  got 
his  lesson  pat. 

"  I  beg  your  reverence's  pardon  for 
hanging  myself,"  becian  he  at  sight, 
rather  loud  and  as  bold  as  brass. 

"Beg  the  Almighty's  pardon,  not 
mine." 

"  No !    the  governor  said    it   was 


81 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


yours  I  was  to  beg,"  demurred  Gil- 
lies. 

"  Very  well.  But  you  should  beg 
Grod's  pardon  more  tiian  mine." 

"  For  why,  sir  f  " 

"  For  attempting  your  life,  which 
■was  his  gift." 

"  Oh  !  I  need  n't  bog  his  pardon  ; 
he  does  n't  care  what  becomes  of  me  ; 
if  he  did,  lie  would  n't  let  them  bully 
me  as  they  do  day  after  day,  drat  'em." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  one  so  young  as 
you  so  hardened.  I  dare  say  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  jad  is  hitter  to  you,  it  is 
to  all  idle  boys  ;  hut  you  might  be  in 
a  much  worse  place,  —  and  will,  if 
you  do  not  mend." 

"  A  worse  place  than  this,  your 
reverence  !      O,  my  eye  !  " 

"  And  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to 
Heaven  for  sending  the  turnkey  at 
that  moment  "  (here,  I  'm  sorry  to  say, 
little  Gillies  grinned  satirically),  "or 
you  would  be  in  a  worse  place.  Would 
you  rather  be  here  or  in  Hell  ?  "  half 
asked,  half  explained,  the  reverend 
gentleman,  in  the  superior  tone  of  one 
closing  a  discussion  forever. 

"  In  Hell ! ! !  "  replied  Gillies,  open- 
ing his  eyes  with  astonishment  at  the 
doubt. 

Mr.  Jones  was  dumfoundered ;  of 
all  the  mischances  that  befall  us  in 
argument,  this  coup  peri)lexes  us  most. 
He  looked  down  at  the  little  ignorant 
wretch,  and  decided  it  would  be  use- 
less to  waste  theoloiry  on  him.  He 
fell  instead  into  familiar  conversation 
with  him,  and  then  Gillies,  witli  the 
natural  communicativeness  of  youtli, 
confessed  to  him  "  that  he  had  heard 
the  warder  at  the  next  cell  before  he 
ventured  to  step  off  the  chair  and  sus- 
pend himself." 

"  Well !  but  you  ran  a  great  risk 
too.  Suppose  he  had  not  come  into 
your  cell,  —  suppose  he  had  been 
calleil  away  for  a  minute." 

"  I  should  have  heen  scragged,  and 
no  mistake,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 
ishiver.  Throttling  had  proved  no 
joke.  "  But  1  took  my  chance  of 
that,"  added  Gillies.  "  I  was  deter- 
mined to  give  them  a  fright ;  besides, 


if  he  had  n't  come  it  would  all  be  over 
by  now,  sir,  and  all  the  better  for  me, 
I  know." 

Further  communication  was  closed 
by  the  crank,  which  demanded  young 
Hopeful  by  its  mouthpiece.  Fry. 
After  dinner,  to  his  infinite  disgust, 
he  received  the  other  moiety  of  his 
flogging  ;  but,  by  a  sort  of  sulky  com- 
pensation, his  be<i  was  kicked  into  bis 
cell  again  at  night  by  Fry,  acting 
under  the  governor's  orders. 

"  That  was  not  a  bad  move,  hang- 
ing myself  a  little, — a  very  little," 
said  the  young  prig.  He  hooked  up 
his  recovered  treasure  ;  and,  though 
smarting  all  over,  coiled  himself  up  ia 
it,  and  in  three  minutes  forgot  present 
pain,  past  dangers,  and  troubles  to 
come. 

The  plan  pursued  with  Robinson 
was  to  keep  him  at  low-water  mark 
by  lowering  his  diet ;  without  this,  so 
great  was  his  natural  energy  and  dis- 
position to  work,  that  no  crank  ex- 
cuse could  have  been  got  for  punish- 
ing him  ;  and  at  this  period  he  was 
too  wise  and  self-restrained  to  give 
any  other.  But  after  a  few  days  of 
unjust  torture  he  began  to  lose  hope; 
arid  with  hope  patience  oozed  away 
too,  and  his  enemy  saw  with  grim 
satisfaction  wild  flashes  of  mad  rage 
come  every  now  and  then  to  his  eye, 
harder  and  harder  to  suppress.  "  He 
will  break  out  beibrc  long,"  said 
Hawes  to  himself,  "  and  then  —  " 

Robinson  saw  the  game,  and  a 
deep,  dark  hatred  of  his  enemy 
fought  on  the  side  of  his  prudence. 
This  hitter  ra^ring  strug<:le  of  con- 
tending passions  in  the  thief  s  heart 
harmed  his  soul  more  than  had  years 
of  burglary  and  j)ettv  larceny.  All 
the  vices  of  the  old  jail  system  are 
norhinir  compared  with  the  diaboli- 
cal edect  of  solitude  on  a  heart  smart- 
ing with  daily  wronirs. 

Broodini,'  on  self  is  always  cor- 
rupting:; but  to  brood  on  self  and 
wrongs  is  to  ripen  fur  madness,  mur- 
der, and  all  crime.  Between  Robin- 
son and  these  there  lay  one  little  bit  of 
hope,  —  only  one,  but  it  was  a  rca- 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


85 


sonable  one.  There  was  an  official  in 
the  jail  ])Ossessed  of  a  larj^e  inde- 
pendent authority  ;  and  paid  ( Robin- 
son ar<:;ued)  to  take  the  side  of  hu- 
manity in  the  place.  This  man  was 
the  representative  of  the  national  re- 
lii;ion  in  the  jail,  as  Hawes  was  of 
the  law.  Koi)inson  was  too  sharp 
at  pickinf^  up  everything?  in  his  way, 
and  had  been  too  often  in  prisons  and 
their  chapels  not  to  know  that  cruel- 
ty and  injustice  are  contrary  to  the 
Gospel,  and  to  the  national  reliuion, 
which  is  in  a  great  measure  founded 
thereon.  He  therefore  hoped  and 
believed  the  chaplain  of  the  jail 
would  come  between  him  and  his 
persecutor  if  he  could  be  made  to 
understand  the  case.  Now  it  hap- 
pened, just  after  the  justices  had 
thrown  cold  water  on  Mr.  Jones's  lit- 
tle expostulation,  that  Kobinson  was 
pinned  to  the  wall,  jammed  in  the 
waistcoat,  and  throttled  in  the  collar. 
He  had  been  thps  some  time,  when, 
casting  his  despairing  eyes  around, 
they  alighted  upon  the  comely,  respec- 
table face  of  Mr.  Jones.  Mr.  Jones 
was  looking  gravely  at  the  victim. 

Robinson  devoured  him  with  his 
eyes  and  his  ears.  He  heard  him 
say  in  an  undertone  :  — 

"  What  is  this  for  ?  " 

"  Has  n't  done,  his  work  at  the 
frank,"  was  the  answer. 

Then  Mr.  Jones,  after  taking  an- 
Kher  look  at  the  sufferer,  gave  a 
^igh  and  walked  away.  Robinson's 
hopes  from  this  gf'ntlman  rose  ;  more- 
Uver,  part  of  his  sermon  next  Sun- 
lay  inveighed  against  inhumanity  ; 
and  Robinson,  who  had  no  concep- 
tion the  sermon  was  several  years 
old,  looked  on  it  as  aimed  at  Hawes 
and  his  myrmidons,  and  as  the  pre- 
cursor of  oMier  and  eifective  remon- 
strances. Not  long  after  tins,  to 
his  delight,  the  chaplain  visited  him 
alcne.  He  seized  this  opportunity 
of  securing  the  good  man's  inter- 
fer-s'jce  in  his  favor.  He  told  him 
in  g'lowing  words  the  whole  story  of 
his  suFerings  ;  and  with  a  plain  and 
Eiwul/  eloquence  appealed  to  him  to 


make  his  chapel  words  good,  and 
come  between  the  bloodhounds  and 
their  prey. 

"  Sir,  there  are  twenty  or  thirty 
poor  fellows  besides  me  that  will 
bless  your  four  bones  night  and  day, 
if  you  will  but  put  out  your  hand 
and  save  us  from  being  abused  like 
dogs,  and  nailed  to  the  wall  like  kites 
and  weasels.  We  are  not  vermin, 
sir,  we  are  men.  Many  a  worse  man 
is  abroad  than  we  that  are  caged  here 
like  wild  beasts.  Our  bodies  are 
men's  bodies,  sir,  and  our  hearts  are 
men's  hearts.  You  can't  soften  their 
hearts,  for  they  have  n't  such  a  thing 
about  them  ;  but  only  just  you  open 
your  mouth  and  speak  your  mind  in 
right  -  down  earnest,  and  you  will 
shame  them  into  treating  us  openly 
like  human  beings,  let  them  hate  us 
and  scorn  us  at  bottom  as  they  will. 
We  have  no  friend  here,  sir,  but  you, 
not  one  ;  have  pity  on  us  !  have  pity 
on  us ! " 

And  the  thief  stretched  out  his 
hands,  and  fixed  his  ardent  glistening 
eyes  upon  the  successor  of  the  apostles. 

The  successor  of  the  apostles  hung 
his  head,  and  showed  plainly  tliat  he 
was  not  unmoved.  A  moment  of 
suspense  followed  ;  Robinson  hung 
upon  his  answer.^  At  length  Mr. 
Jones  raised  his  head,  and  said  with 
icy  coldness  :  — 

"  Mr.  Hawes  is  the  governor  of  this 
jail.  I  have  no  power  to  interfere 
with  his  acts,  snpi'orted  as  they  are 
by  the  visiting  justices  ;  and  I  have 
but  one  advice  to  give  you  :  submit 
to  the  discipline  and  to  Mr.  Hawes  in 
everything  ;  it  will  be  the  worse  for 
yon  if  you  don't." 

So  saying  he  wetit  out  abruptly, 
leaving  his  petitioner  with  his  eyes 
fixed  ruefully  upon  the  door  by  which 
his  last  hope  had  left  him. 

The  moment  the  reverend  official 
had  got  outside  the  door,  his  coun- 
tenance, which  had  fallen,  took  a 
com]ilacent  air.  He  prided  himself 
that  he  had  conquered  an  impulse,  — 
an  idle  impulse. 

"  The  poor  fellow  is  in  the  right," 


86 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


said  he  to  liim<;clf,  ns  he  left  the  cell ; 
"  but  if  I  had  lot  him  see  I  thou^^ht 
so,  he  mi;;ht  have  been  encouraged  to 
resist,  and  then  he  would  have  only 
sulTcrcd  all  tlie  more." 

And  so,  having  done  what  he  cal- 
culated was  the  expedient  thin^  to 
do,  he  w^ent  his  way  satisHed  and  at 
peace  with  Mr.  Hawes  and  all  man- 
kind. 

When  he  glided  away  and  took 
hope  with  him,  disdain,  "despair,  and 
frenzy  gushed  from  the  thief's  boil- 
ing bosom  in  one  wild  moan  ;  and 
with  that  moan  he  dashed  himself 
on  his  face  on  the  floor,  though  it 
was  as  hard  as  Hawes  and  cold  as 
Jones. 

Thus  he  lay  crushed  in  blank  de- 
spair a  moment,  the  next  he-  rose 
fiercely  to  his  knees,  he  looked  up 
through  the  hole  they  called  his  win- 
dow, and  saw  a  little  piece  of  blue 
sky  no  bigger  than  a  Bible.  He  held 
his  hand  up  to  that  blue  sky,  he  fixed 
his  dilating  eye  gn  that  blue  sky,  and 
with  one  long,  raging  yell  of  horrible 
words,  hurled  from  a  heart  set  on  fire 
by  wrongs  and  despair  and  tempting 
fiends,  he  cursed  the  successor  of  the 
apostles  before  the  Majesty  of  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Solitude  is  no  barrier  whatever  to 
sin.  Such  prayers  as  Robinson's  are 
a  disgrace  to  those  who  provoke  them, 
but  a  calamity  to  him  who  utters 
them.  Robinson  was  nowafiir  worse 
man  than  ever  he  had  been  out  of 
prison.  The  fiend  had  fixed  a  claw 
in  bis  heart,  and  we  may  be  sure  he 
felt  the  recoil  of  his  ill  prayers.  He 
hated  the  human  race,  which  produced 
such  creatures  as  Hawes  and  nothing 
to  keep  them  in  check. 

"  From  this  hour  I  speak  no  more 
to  any  of  those  beasts  !  " 

Such,  was  his  resolve,  made  with 
clenchm  teeth  and  nails ;  and  he 
curled  himself  up  like  a  snake,  and 
turned  his  back  upon  mankind  and 


his  face  to  the  wall.  Robinson  had 
begun  his  caieer  in  this  ])lace  full  of 
hopes.  He  hoped  by  good  conduct 
to  alleviate  his  condition  as  he  had 
done  in  other  jails.  Conscious  of  va- 
rious talents,  he  hoped  by  skill  as  well 
as  by  good  conduct  to  better  his  con- 
dition even  in  a  jail.  Such  hopes  are 
a  part  of  our  nature,  and  were  not 
in  his  case  unreasonable.  These 
hopes  were  soon  extinguished.  He 
came  down  to  a  cotifident  hope  that 
by  docility  and  good  conduct  he 
should  escape  all  evils  except  those 
inseparable  from  a' prisoner's  lot. 

When  he  discovered  that  Hawes 
loved  to  punish  his  prisoners,  and  in- 
deed could  hardly  get  through  the  day 
without  it,  and  that  his  crank  was  an 
unavoidable  trap  to  catch  the  prison- 
ers and  betray  them  to  punishment, 
he  sank  lower  and  lower  in  despond- 
ency, till  at  last  there  was  but  one  bit 
of  blue  hope  in  all  his  horizon.  He 
still  hoped  something  against  tyranny 
and  cruelty  from  the  representative  of 
the  gospel  of  mt-rcy  in  the  place.  But, 
when  his  reverence  told  him  nothing 
was  to  be  expected  from  that  quarter, 
his  last  hope  went  out  and  he  was  in 
utter  darkness. 

Yet  Mr.  Jones  was  not  a  hypocrite 
nor  a  monster ;  he  was  only  a  com- 
monplace man,  —  a  thing  moulded  by 
circumstances  instead  of  mouMing 
them.  In  him  the  official  outweighed 
the  apostle,  for  a  very  good  reason, — 
he  was  commonplace.  This  was  his 
defect.  His  crime  was  misplacing  his 
commonplace  self.  A  man  has  a 
right  to  be  commonplace  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  New  Forest,  or  in  the  gieat 
desert,  or  at  Fudley-cum  Pii)Os  in  t'le 
fens  of  Lincolnshire.  But  at  the  helm 
of  a  struggling  nation,  or  in  the  com- 
mand of  an  army  in  time  of  war,  or 
at  the  head  of  the  religions  department 
of  a  jail,  fighting  airainst  hiiinan 
wolves,  tigers,  and  foxes,  to  be  com- 
monplace is  an  iniquity  and  leads  to 
crime. 

The  man  was  a  humane  man.  It 
was  not  in  his  nature  to  be  cruel  to  a 
prisoner,  and  his  humanity  was,  like 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


87 


himself,  negative  not  positive,  passive 
not  active,  —  of  course;  it  was  com- 
monplace humanity. 

Afrer  lookiiij^  on  in  silence  for  a 
twelvemonth  or  two  he  remonstrated 
a<^ainst  Hawes's  barbarity.  He  would 
have  done  more  ;  he  would  have 
stopped  it,  —  if  it  could  have  been 
stopped  without  any  trouble.  Cold 
water  was  thrown  on  his  remon- 
strance ;  he  cooled  directly ! 

Now  cold  water  and  hot  fire  have 
been  thrown  on  men  battling  for 
causes  no  higher  nor  holier  than  this, 
yet  neither  has  fire  been  able  to  wither 
nor  water  to  quench  their  honest  zeal. 
But  this  good  soul  on  being  sprinkled 
laid  down  his  arms  ;  he  was  common- 
place. Moreover,  he  was  guilty  of 
something  beside  cowardice.  He  let 
a  small  egotistical  pique  sully  as  well 
as  betray  a  great  cause.  "  The  jus- 
tices have  thrown  cold  water  on  my 
remonstrance,  —  very  well,  gentlemen, 
torture  your  prisoners  ad  libitum  ;  I 
shall  interfere  no  more  ;  we  shall  see 
which  was  in  the  right,  you  or  I." 

This  was  a  narrow  little  view  of 
wide  and  terrible  consequences  ;  it  was 
infinitesimal  egotism,  —  the  spirit  and 
essence  of  commonplace. 

His  inclinations  were  good,  but 
feeble,  —  he  was  commonplace.  His 
heart  was  good,  hut  tepid,  —  he  was 
commonplace.  Had  he  loved  the 
New  Testament  and  the  Saviour  of 
mankind,  he  would  have  fought, 
Hawes  tooth  and  nail ;  he  could  not 
have  helped  it ;  but  he  did  not  love 
either;  he  only  liked  them,  —  he  was 
commonplace.  When  the  thief  cursed 
this  man,  he  was  guilty  of  an  extrav- 
agance as  well  as  a  crime;  the  man 
was  not  worth  cursing,  —  he  was  com- 
monplace. 

The  new  chaplain  arrived  soon  after 
these  events.  The  new  chaplain  was 
accompanied  by  his  friend,  the  Kev. 
James  Lepel,  chaplain  of  a  jail  in  the 
north  of  England.  After  five  years' 
unremitting  duty,  he  was  now  enjoy- 
ing a  week's  leave  of  absence. 

The  three  clergymen  visited  the 
cells.     Mr.  Lepel  cross-examined  sev- 


eral prisoners.  The  new  chaplain 
spoke  little,  but  seemed  observant, 
and  once  or  twice  made  a  note.  Now 
it  so  happened  that  almost  the  last 
cell  they  entered  was  Tom  Robin- 
son's. They  found  him  sitting  all  of 
a  heap,  in  a  corner,  moody  and  sul- 
len. 

At  sight  of  three  black  coats  and 
white  ties,  the  thief  opened  his  eyes, 
and,  with  a  sort  of  repugnance,  turned 
his  back  on  the  intruders. 

"  Come,  my  lad,"  said  the  turnkey, 
sternly,  "  no  tricks,  if  you  please. 
Turn  round,"  cried  he',  savagely, 
"  and  make  your  bow  to  the  gentle- 
men." 

Robinson  wheeled  round  with  flash- 
ing eyes,  and,  checking  an  evident 
desire  to  dash  at  them,  instantly 
made  a  bow  so  very  low,  so  very  ob- 
sequious, and,  by  a  furtive  expres- 
sion, so  contemptuous,  that  Mr.  TiCpel 
colored  with  indignation,  and  moved 
towards  the  door  in  silence. 

The  turnkey  muttered,  "  He  has 
been  very  strange  this  few  days  past. 
Mr.  Fry  thinks  he  is  hardly  safe." 
Then,  turning  to  the  new  chaplain, 
the  man,  whose  name  was  Evans, 
said,  "  Better  not  go  into  his  cell,  sir, 
without  one  of  us  with  you." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? " 
inquired  the  reverend  gentleman. 

"  O,  I  don't  know  as  there  is  any- 
thing the  matter  with  him  ;  only  he 
has  been  disciplined  once  or  twice, 
and  it  goes  down  the  wrong  way  with 
some  of  them  at  first  starting.  Gov- 
ernor says  he  will  have  to  be  put  in 
the  dark  cell  if  he  does  not  get  bet- 
ter." 

"  The  dark  cell  1  hum  !  Pray  what 
is  the  cff'ect  of  the  dark  cell  on  a  pris- 
oner ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  it  cows  them  more 
than  anything." 

"  Where  are  your  dark  cells  ?  " 

"  They  are  down  below,  sir.  You 
can  look  at  them  after  the  kitchen." 

"  I  must  go  into  the  town,"  said 
Mr.  Lepel,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  I 
promised  to  dine  with  my  relations  at 
three  o'clock." 


88 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"  Come  nnd  sec  the  ouhlicttcs 
firit.  ^Vc  have  seen  everythiiij^ 
else." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  " 

Thoy  (Icsct'iuled  below  the  {rround- 
floor,  and  then  Evans  unlocked  a  mas- 
sive, tight-htting  door,  opening'  upon 
what  ap])earc'd  to  l)e  a  black  sub- 
stance; tills  was,  however,  no  sub- 
stance, —  but  vacancy  without  any 
degree  of  light.  The  light  crossing 
the  tlirt'sliold  from  the  open  door 
seeniod  to  cut  a  slice  out  of  it. 

The  new-comers  looked  into  it.  Mr. 
Lepel  with  grim  satisfaction,  the  other 
with  awe  and  curiosity. 

"  When  shall  you  be  back,  Lepel  1  " 
inquired  he,  thoughtfully, 

"  (),  before  nine  o'clock." 

'*  Then  perhaps  you  will  both  do 
me  the  honor  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea 
with  me,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  courteous- 

"  "With  pleasure." 

"  Gooi]  by,  then,  for  the  present," 
said  the  new  chaplain.^ 

"  Whv,  where  are  you  going?  " 

"  In  liere." 

"  What,  into  the  dark  cell  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well !  "  ejaculated  Evans. 

"  You  won't  stay  there  long." 

"  Until  you  return,  Lepel." 

"  What  a  fancy  !  " 

Mr.  Jones  looked  not  a  little  sur- 
prised. The  turnkey  grinned.  The 
reverend  gentleman  stepped  at  once 
into  the  cell,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

"  Do  not  let  me  out  before  eight 
o'clock,"  said  his  voice,  "  and  you, 
Lepel,  inquire  for  me  as  soon  as  you 
return,  for  I  feel  a  little  nervous. 
Now  t-hut  the  door." 

The  door  was  closed  on  the  rev- 
erend gentleman,  and  the  little  grouj) 
outside,  after  looking  at  one  another 
with  a  humorous  expression,  sep- 
arated, and  each  went  after  his  own 
affairs. 

Evans  lingered  behind,  and  took 
a  look  at  the  massy  door,  behind 
which  for  the  first  time  a  man  had 
gone  voluntarily,  and,  after  grave  de- 
liberation, delivered  himself  at  long 


intervals   of  the   two   following  pro- 
I'ound  reflections  :  — 

"  Well  !    I  'm  blest  !  ! 

"  Well !    I  'm  blowed  !  !  " 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Mr.  Lepel  returned  somewhat 
earlier  than  he  had  intended.  On 
entering  the  jail  it  so  happened 
that  he  met  the  governor,  and  seized 
this  opportunity  of  conversing  with 
him. 

He  expressed  at  once  so  warm  an 
admiration  of  the  jail  and  the  sys- 
tem pursued  in  it,  that  llawes  began 
to  take  a  fancy  to  him. 

They  compared  notes,  and  agreed 
that  no  system  but  the  separate  and 
silent  had  a  leg  to  stand  on  ;  and,  as 
they  returned  together  fiom  visiting 
the  ground-floor  cells,  Mr.  Lepel  had 
the  honor  of  giving  a  new  light  to 
Hawes  himself. 

"  If  I  could  have  my  way  the  debt- 
ors should  be  in  separate  cells.  I 
would  have  but  one  system  in  a 
jail." 

Hawes  Inughed  incredulously. 
"  There  Avould  be  a  fine  outcry  if  we 
treated  tlie  debtors  the  same  as  we  do 
the  rogues." 

"  Mr.  Hawes,"  said  the  other,  firm- 
ly, "  an  honest  man  very  seldom 
finds  his  way  into  any  part  of  a  jail. 
Extravagant  people,  and  tradesmen 
who  have  abused  the  principle  of 
credit,  di'serve  putiishmenr,  and  above 
all  re(piire  discipline  ami  compulso- 
ry self-communion  to  bring  them  to 
amend  their  ways." 

"  That  is  right,  sir,"  cried  Hawes, 
a  sudden  li^rht  breaking  on  him, 
"  and  it  certainly  is  a  mistake  letting 
them  enjoy  themselves." 

"  And  corrupt  each  other." 

Ildires.  "  A  prison  should  be  con- 
finemiMit." 

Lepel .  "  And  seclusion  from  all  but 
profitable  company." 

llawes.  "  It  is  not  a  place  of 
amusement." 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


89 


Lepd.  "There  should  be  no  idle 
conversation." 

"  And  no  noise,"  put  in  Hawes, 
hastily. 

"  However,  this  prison  is  a  model 
for  all  ilie  prisons  in  the  land,  and  I 
shall  feel  quite  sad  when  I  go  back 
to  my  duty  in  Cumborland." 

"  Cumberland  ?  Why,  you  are  our 
new  chaplain,  are  n't  ye  .^  " 

"  No !  1  am  not  so  fortunate,  I  am 
a  friend  of  his ;  my  name  is  Lepel." 

*'  O,  you  are  JVlr.  Lopel,  and  where 
is  our  one  1  I  heard  he  had  been  all 
over  the  jail." 

"  What,  have  you  not  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No !  he  lias  never  been  near  me. 
Not  very  polite,  I  think." 

"Oh!  Oh!" 

"  Hallo  !  what  is  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  know  where  he  is ;  he  is 
not  far  off.  I  will  go  and  find  him  if 
you  will  excuse  me." 

"  No !  we  won't  trouble  you.  Here, 
Hodges,  come  here.  Have  you  seen 
the  new  chaplain,  —  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  Evans  tells  me  he  is — " 
click  ! 

"  Confound  you,  don't  stand  grin- 
ning.    Where  is  he  1 " 

"In  the  black-hole,  sir!" 

"  What  d'  ve  mean  by  the  black- 
hole  ?    The  dust-hole  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  mean  the  dark  cells." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  say  tiie  dark 
cells  ?     Has  he  been  there  long  ?  " 

Mr.  Lepel  answered  the  question. 
"Ever -since  three  o'clock,  and  it  is 
nearly  nine  ;  and  we  are  both  of  us  to 
drink  tea  with  Mr.  Jones." 

Mr.  Hawes  showed  no  hurry. 
"  What  did  he  want  to  go  in  them 
for?" 

"  I  have  no  idea,  unless  it  was  to 
see  what  it  is  like." 

"Well,  but  I  like  that!"  said 
Hawes.  "  That  is  entering  into  the 
system.  Let  us  see  how  he  comes 
on." 

Mr.  Hawes,  Mr.  Lepel,  and  Hodges 
went  to  the  dart  ceUs  ;  on  their  way 
they  were  joined  by  Evans. 

The  governor  took  out  his  own 
keys,  and  Evans  having  indicated  the 


cell,  for  there  were  three,  he  unlocked 
it,  and  threw  the  door  wide  open. 
They  all  looked  in,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen. 

'•  I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter,"  said 
Mr.  Lepel,  in  considerai)le  agitation, 
and  he  groped  his  way  into  the  cave. 
As  he  put  out  his  hand  it  was  taken 
almost  violently  by  the  self-iminured, 
who  cried  :  — 

"  O  Lepel ! "  and  held  him  in  a 
strong,  but  tremulous  grasp.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  he  said  more  calmly  : 
"  The  light  dazzles  me !  the  place 
seems  on  fire  now !  Perhaps  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  lend  me  your  arm, 
Lepel." 

Mr.  Lepel  led  him  out ;  he  had  one 
hand  before  his  eyes,  Avhich  he  gradu- 
ally withdrew  while  speaking.  He 
found  himself  in  the  middle  of  a  group 
with  a  sly  sneer  on  their  faces  mixed 
with  some  curiosity. 

"How  long  have  I  been  there?" 
asked  he,  quietly. 

"  Six  hours  ;  it  is  nine  o'clock." 

"  Only  six  hours  !  incredible  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  are  not 
sorry  to  l)e  out  ?  " 

"This  is  Mr.  Hawes,  the  governor," 
put  in  Mr.  Lepel. 

Hawes  continued  jocosely  :  "  What 
does  it  feel  like,  sir?  " 

"  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  telling 
you  that  in  j)rivate,  Mr.  Hawes.  I 
think,  Lepel,  we  have  an  engagement 
with  Mr.  Jones  at  nine  o'clock."  So 
saying,  the  new  chaplain,  with  a  bow 
to  the  governor,  took  his  friend's  arm, 
and  went  to  tea  with  Mr.  Jones.^ 

"  There  now,''  said  Hawes  to  the 
turnkeys,  "  that  is  a  gentleman.  He 
doesn't  blurt  everything  out  before 
you  fellows ;  he  reserves  it  for  his 
superior  officer." 

Next  morning  the  new  chaplain  re- 
quested Mr.  Lepel  to  visit  the  pris- 
oners' cells  in  a  certain  order,  and 
make  notes  of  their  characters  as  fir 
as  he  could  guess  them.  He  himself 
visited  them  in  another  order  and 
made  his  notes.  In  the  evening  they 
compared  these.  We  must  be  con- 
tent with  an  extract  or  two  :  — 


90 


"IT  IS  J^EVEE  TOO  LATE  TO  MKN'I).' 


Mr.  Lepel's. 

liock^  No.  37.  —  A  very  promising 
Bubjccr,  penitent  and  resij^ned.  Says, 
"  If.  the  door  of  the  ])rison  was  left 
open  he  would  not  go  out."  Has 
learned  250  texts,  and  is  learning  fif- 
teen a  day. 


Josephs,  No.  .  —  An  interesting 
boy,  ignorant,  but  apparently  well 
disposed.  In  ill  health.  The  surgeon 
should  be  consulted  about  him. 


Strutt,'No.  .  —  Sullen,  impenitent, 
and  brutal.  Says  it  is  no  use  his 
learning  texts,  they  won't  stay  in  his 
head.  Discontented ;  wants  to  go  out 
in  the  yard.  The  best  one  can  hope 
for  here  is,  that  the  punishment,  which 
he  finds  so  severe,  will  deter  him  in 
future.  Says  he  will  never  come  here 
again,  but  doubts  whether  he  shall 
get  out  alive.     Gave  him  some  tracts. 


Jessup.  —  The  prisoner  whose  term, 
owing  to  his  excellent  conduct,  is  re- 
duced from  twelve  months  to  nine 
months,  so  that  he  goes  out  next  week. 
Having  discovered  that  the  news  had 
not  been  conveyed  to  him,  I  asked 
]Mr.  Hawes  to  let  me  he  the  bearer. 
When  I  told  him,  his  only  remark 
was,  with  an  air  of  regret :  *"  Then  I 
shall  not  finish  my  Gospels  1 "  I 
begged  for  an  explanation,  when  be 
told  me  thiit  for  eight  months  he  had 
Ken  committing  the  Gospels  to  heart, 
and  tliat  he  was  just  beginning  St. 
John,  which  now  he  should  never 
finish.  I  said  he  must  finish  it  at 
home  in  the  interv.ds  of  honest  labor. 
His  countenance  brightened,  and  he 
said  he  would. 


The  New  Ciiapl.vin's. 

37,  Hock  —  Professes  pcnit^^nce. 
Asked  him  suddenly  what  sins  weighed 
most  on  his  conscience.  No  answer. 
Prepared  with  an  al)stract  penitence, 
but  no  particulars  :  reason  ol)vious. 

Mem.  With  this  man  speak  on  any 
topic  rather  than  religion  at  ])resent. 
Pray  for  this  self-deceiver  as  I  would 
for  a  murderer. 

Josephs.  —  An  amiable  boy  ;  seems 
out  of  health  and  sjjirits.  Says  he 
has  been  overworked  and  punished  for 
inability.  Shall  intercede  with  the 
governor  for  him. 

Mem.  Pale  and  hollow-eyed,  pulse 
feeble. 

Strutt.  —  Tliis  poor  man  is  in  a 
state  of  deep  depression.  I  much  fear 
the  want  of  light  and  air  and  society 
is  crushing  him.    He  is  fifty  years  old. 

Mem.  Inquire  whether  separate 
confinement  tries  men  harder  after  a 
certain  age.  Talked  to  him  ;  told  him 
stories  with  all  tlie  animation  I  could. 
Stayed  half  an  hour  with  him  :  he 
brightened  up  a  little,  and  asked  me 
to  come  again.  Nothing  to  be  done 
here  at  present  but  amuse  the  poor 
soul. 

Mem.  Watch  him  jealously. 

Jessttp.  —  Like  I?ock,  professes  ex- 
travagant penitence,  indifiercnce  to 
personal  liberty,  and  love  of  Sciiipture. 
He  overdoes  it  greatly  :  however,  it 
appears  he  has  gained  his  point  by  it. 
He  has  induced  Mr.  Jones  to  plead  fiir 
him  in  mitiiration  of  punishment,  nnd 
next  week  he  leaves  prison  for  a  little 
while. 

He  asked  me  to  hear  him  some  texts. 
I  said,  "  No,  my  f)Oor  fellow  ;  tliey 
will  do  you  as  much  good  whether  I 
hear  you  them  or  not."  By  a  light 
that  rtiislied  into  his  eye  I  s:iw  he 
comprehended  the  equivoque  ;  but  he 
suppressed  his  intelligence,  and  an- 
swered ])iously,  "  That  they  will,  your 
reverence." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


91 


Mr.  Le pel's, 

A  most  clieering  case,  and  one  of 
the  best  proofs  of  the  efficacy  of  the 
separate  and  silent  system  1  have  met 
with  for  some  time.  I  fear  I  almost 
grudge  you  the  possession  of  such  an 
example. 

Robinson.  —  A  bad  subject,  rebel- 
lious and  savage ;  refuses  to  speak. 
Time  and  the  discipline  will  probably 
break  him  of  this  ;  but  I  do  not  think 
he  will  ever  make  a  good  prisoner  ! 


The  New  Chaplain's. 


The  next  day  the  new  chaplain  met 
the  surgeon  in  the  jail,  and  took  him 
into  Josephs's  cell. 

"He  only  wants  a  little  rest,  and 
nourishing  food ;  he  would  be  the 
better  for  a  little  amusement,  but  —  " 
and  the  man  of  science  shrugged  his 
shoulder's. 

"  Can  you  read  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lepel. 

"  Very  Uttle,  sir." 

"Let  the  schoolmaster  come  to 
him  every  day,"  suggested  that  ex- 
perienced individual.  He  knew  what 
separate  confinement  was.  What 
bores  a  boy  out  of  prison  amuses  him 
in  it. 

Hawes  gave  a  cold  consent.  So 
poor  little  Josephs  had  a  richer  diet, 
and  rest  fiom  crank  and  pillory,  and 
the  schoolmaster  spent  half  an  hour 
every  day  teaching  him ;  and,  above 
all,  the  new  chaplain  sat  in  his  cell, 
and  told  him  stories  that  interested 
him,  —  told  him  how  very  wicked  some 
boys  had  been ;  what  a  many  clever 


Robinson.  —  This  man  wears  a  sin- 
gular look  of  scorn  as  well  as  hatred, 
which,  coupled  with  his  repeated  re- 
fusals to  speak  to  me,  provoked  me 
so  that  I  felt  strongly  tempted  to 
knock  him  down.  How  unworthy, 
to  be  provoked  at  anything  a  great 
sufferer  can  say  or  do  :  every  solitary 
prisoner  must  surely  be  a  great  suf- 
ferer. 

My  judgment  is  quite  at  fault  here. 
I  know  no  more  than  a  child  what  is 
this  man's  character,  and  the  cause  of 
his  strange  conduct. 

Mem.  Inquire  his  antecedents  of 
the  turnkeys.  O  Lord,  enlighten  me, 
and  give  me  wisdom  for  the  great 
and  deep  and  difficult  task  I  have  so 
boldly  undertaken ! 

wicked  things  they  had  done  and  not 
been  happy,  then  how  they  had  re- 
pented and  learned  to  pray  to  be  good, 
and  how  by  divine  help  they  had  be- 
come good,  and  how  some  had  gone 
to  heaven  soon  after,  and  were  now 
happy  and  pure  as  the  angels  ;  and 
others  had  stayed  on  earth  and  were 
good  and  honest  and  just  men ;  not  so 
happy  as  those  others  who  were  dead, 
but  content  (and  that  the  wicked 
never  are),  and  waiting  God's  pleasure 
to  go  away  and  be  happy  forever. 

Josephs  listened  to  the  good  chap- 
lain's tales  and  conversation  with 
wonderful  interest,  and  his  face  always 
brightened  when  that  gentleman  came 
into  his  cell.  The  schoolmaster  re- 
ported him  not  quick,  but  docile. 
These  were  his  halcyon  dnys. 

But  Robinson  rcm;iined  a  silent 
basilisk.  The  chaplain  visited  him 
every  da}',  said  one  or  two  kind  words 
to  him,  and  retired  without  receiving 
a  word  or  a  look  of  acknowledgment- 


92 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


One  day,  surprised  and  hurt  by  this 
coiitinuod  ohdurHc-y,  the  cluiphiin  re- 
tired with  Jill  jiudil)le  sij^li.  Kohiiison 
heard  ir,  and  irround  iiis  teeth  with 
satisf.iction.  Solitary,  tortured,  and 
degraded,  lie  had  siill  found  one  whom 
he  could  annoy  a  little  bit. 

The  governor  and  the  new  chaplain 
agreed  charmingly ;  constant  civili- 
ties passed  between  them.  The 
chaplain  assisted  Mr.  Ilawes  to  turn 
the  phrases  of  his  yearly  report ; 
and  Mr.  Hawes  more  than  repaid 
him  by  consenting  to  his  introducing 
various  handicrafts  into  the  prison, 
—  at  his  own  expense,  not  the  coun- 
ty's. 

"  Parson  must  have  got  a  longer 
purse  than  most  of  us,"  thought 
Hawes,  and  it  increased  his  respect. 

Hawes  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  You  are  just 
flinging  your  money  into  the  dirt  "  ; 
but  the  other,  interpreting  his  look, 
said  :  — 

"  I  hope  more  good  from  this  than 
from  all  the  sermons  I  shall  preach 
in  your  chapel." 

Probably  Mr.  Hawes  would  not 
have  been  so  indifferent  had  he  known 
that  this  introduction  of  rational  la- 
bor was  intended  as  tlie  first  step  to- 
wards undermining  and  expelling  the 
sacred  crank. 

This  clergyman  had  a  secret  horror 
and  hatred  of  the  crank.  He  called 
it  a  monster  got  by  folly  upon  science 
to  degrade  labor  below  theft ;  for 
theft  is  immoral,  but  crank  labor  is 
immoral  and  idiotic  too,  said  he. 
The  crank  is  a  diabolical  engine,  to 
keep  thieves  from  ever  being  any- 
thing but  thieves.  He  arrived  at 
this  conclusion  by  a  chain  of  reason- 
ing for  which  there  is  no  room  in  a 
narrative  already  smothered  in  words. 

This  antipathy  to  the  crank  quite 
overpowered  him.  He  had  been  now 
three  weeks  in  the  jail,  and  all  that 
time  only  thrice  in  the  labor-yard.  It 
cut  his  understanding  like  a  knife  to 
see  a  man  turn  a  handle  for  hours 
and  nothing  come  of  it. 

However,  one  day,  from  a  sense  of 


duty,  he  forced  himself  into  the  la- 
bor-yard, and  walked  wincing  down 
the  row. 

"  These  are  our  schoolmen,"  said 
he.  "As  the  schoolmen  labored 
most  intellectually  and  scientifically, 
—  practical  result,  nil,  so  these  labor 
harder  than  other  men,  —  result,  nit. 
This  is  literally  'beating  the  air,'  The 
ancients  imagined  tortures  partic- 
ularly trying  to  nature,  that  of  Sisy- 
piius  to  wit  ;  everlasting  labor  im- 
bittered  by  everlasting  nihilification. 
We  have  made  Sisyj)hism  vulgar. 
Here  are  fifteen  Sisy|)hi.  Only  the 
wise  or  ancients  called  this  thing  in- 
fernal torture  ;  our  old  women  call  it 
salutary  discipline." 

He  was  running  on  in  this  style, 
heaping  satire  and  sorrow  upon  the 
crank,  when  suddenly,  at  the  mouth 
of  one  of  the  farthest  cells,  he  stopped 
and  threw  up  his  hands  with  an 
ejaculation  of  astonishment  and  dis- 
may. There  was  a  man  jammed  in 
a  strait-waistcoat,  pinned  against  the 
wall  by  a  strap,  and  throttling  in 
a  huge  collar ;  his  face  was  white, 
his  lips  livid,  and  his  eyes  rolling  de- 
spairingly :  it  was  Thomas  Robin- 
son. This  sight  took  away  the  chap- 
lain's breath.  When  he  recovered 
himself,  "What  is  thisi  "  said  he  to 
the  turnkeys,  sternly. 

"  Prisoner  refractory  at  the  crank," 
answered  Hodges,  doggedly. 

The  clergyman  walked  up  to  Kob- 
inson  and  examined  the  collar,  the 
waistcoat,  and  the  strap.  "  Have  you 
the  governor's  authority  for  this 
act  ?  "  said  he,  firmly. 

"  Rule  is,  if  they  won't  do  their 
work,  the  jacket." 

"  Have  you  the  governor's  author- 
ity for  this  particular  act  1  " 

"  In  a  general  way  we  have." 

"  In  a  word,  you  are  not  acting  un- 
der his  authority  and  you  know  it; 
take  the  man  down  this  moment." 

The  men  hesitated. 

"  If  you  don't,  1  shall." 

The  turnkeys,  a  little  staggered  by 
his  firmness,  l)egan  to  confer  in  whis- 
pers.    The  chaplain,  who  was  one  of 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


93 


your  decided  men,  could  not  w.-iit  the 
con>ultatio:i.  He  spran<^  to  Robiu- 
suii's  head  and  hej^^an  to  undo  the  col- 
lar. The  others  seeing  this  decided 
move  came  and  helped  him.  The 
collar  and  the  strap  being  loosed,  the 
tliiet's  body  ensacked  as  it  was  fell 
helplessly  forward.  He  had  fainted 
during  the  discussion;  in  fact  his  senses 
were  shut  when  the  chaplain  tirst 
came  to  the  cell.  The  chaplain  caught 
him,  and  being  a  very  strong  man 
saved  hiin  from  a  dangerous  fall,  and 
seated  him  gently  with  his  back  to 
the  wall.  Water  was  sprinkled  in  his 
face.  The  chaplain  went  hastily  to 
find  tlie  governor.  He  came  to  him 
pale  and  out  of  breath. 

"  I  found  the  turnkeys  outraging  a 
prisoner." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  governor.  It 
was  a  new  idea  to  him  that  anything 
jjould  be  an  outrage  on  a  prisoner. 

"They  confessed  they  had  not  your 
authority,  so  I  took  upon  me  to  undo 
their  act." 

"  Humph  ! " 

"  I  now  leave  the  matter  in  your 
hands,  sir." 

"  I  will  see  into  it,  sir." 

The  ch:iplain  left  Mr.  Hawes  ab- 
ruptly, for  he  was  seized  with  a  sud- 
den languor  and  nausea;-  he  went  to 
his  own  house  and  there  he  was  vio- 
lently sick.  Shaking  off  as  quickly 
as  he  could  this  weakness,  he  went  at 
once  to  Robinson's  cell.  He  found 
him  coiled  up  like  a  snake.  He  came 
hastily  into  the  cell  with  the  natural 
effusion  of  a  man  who  had  taken 
another  man's  part. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question  : 
What  had  you  done  that  they 
should  use  you  like  that  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  It  is  not  from  idle  curiosity  I  ask 
you,  but  that  I  may  be  able  to  advise 
you,  or  intercede  for  you  if  the  punish- 
ment should  appear  too  severe  for  the 
offence." 

Xo  answer. 

"  Come,  I  would  wait  here  ever  so 
long  upon  the  chance  of  your  speak- 
ing to  me  if  you  were  the  only  pris- 


oner, but  there  are  others  in  their  sol- 
itude longing  for  nie  ;  time  is  precious  ; 
will  you  speak  to  one  who  desires  to 
be  your  friend  {  " 

No  answer. 

A  flush  of  impatience  and  anger 
crossed  the  chaplain's  brow  :  in  most 
men  it  would  have  lound  vent  in  words. 
This  man  but  turned  away  to  hide  it 
from  its  object.  He  gulped  his  brief 
ire  down  and  said  only,  "  So  then  I 
am  never  to  be  any  use  to  you,"  and 
went  sorrowfully  away. 

Robinson  coiled  himself  up  a  little 
tighter,  and  hugged  his  hatred  of  all 
mankind  closer,  like  a  treasure  that 
some  one  had  just  tried  to  do  him  out 
of. 

As  the  chaplain  came  out  of  his 
cell  he  was  met  by  Hawes,  whose 
countenance  wore  a  gloomy  expression 
that  soon  found  its  way  into  words. 

"  The  chaplain  is  not  allowed  to  in- 
terfere between  me  and  the  prisoners 
in  this  jail." 

'■  Explain,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"  You  have  been  and  ordered  my 
turnkeys  to  relax  punishment." 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Hawes,  I  ex- 
plained to  you  that  they  were  acting 
wdthout  the  requisite  authority  from 
you." 

"  That  is  all  right,  and  I  have  called 
them  to  account,  but  then  you  are  not 
to  order  them  either ;  you  should 
have   applied  to  me." 

"  I  see,  I  see  !  Forgive  me  this  lit- 
tle breach  of  routine,  where  a  human 
creature's  sufferings  would  have  been 
prolonged  by  etiquette." 

"  Ugh  !  'Well,  it  must  not  occur 
again." 

"  I  trust  the  occasion  will  not."        > 

"  For  that  matter,  you  will  often  see 
refractory  prisoners  punished  in  this 
jail.  You  had  better  mind  your  own 
business  in  the  jail,  it  will  find  you 
work  enough." 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Hawes  ;  to  dissuade 
men  from  cruelty  is  .-i  part  of  it." 

"If  you  come  between  me  and  the 
prisoners,  sir,  you  won't  be  long 
here." 

The  new  chaplain  smiled. 


94 


T  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  What  docs  It  matter  wlicthcr  I  'm 
hero  or  in  l'jitji;;onia,  so  that  I  do  my 
dury  wherever  I  am  ■* ''  s.iid  he,  with 
a  Hue  mixture  of  good-humor  and 
spirit. 

Hawes  turned  his  back  rudely,  and 
went  and  reduced  Robinson's  supper 
fifty  ])er  cent. 

*'  Evans,  is  that  sort  of  punishment 
often  inflicted  here?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  yes.  It  is  a  common 
punishment  of  this  jail." 

"  It  must  be  very  painful." 

"  No,  sir,  it's  a  little  o/jcomfortable, 

—  that  is  all  ;  and  then  we  've  got 
such  a  lot  here  we  are  obliged  to  be 
down  on  'em  like  a  sledge-hammer,  or 
they  'd  eat  us  up  alive." 

"  Have  you  got  the  things,  the 
jacket,  coUar,  etc.  1  " 

"  I  know  where  to  find  them,"  said 
Evans,  with  a  sly  look. 

"  Bring  them  to  me  directly  to  this 
emptv  cell." 

"  Well,  sir,"  higdcd  Evans,  "  in 
course,  I  don't  like  to  refuse  your  rev- 
erence." 

"  Then  don't  refuse  me,"  retorted 
the  other,  sharp  as  a  needle. 

Evans  went  off  directly  and  soon 
returned  with  the  materials.  The 
chaplain  examined  them  awhile ;  he 
then  took  off  liis  coat. 

"  Operate  on  me,  Evans." 

"  Operate  on  yon,  sir  !  " 

"  Yes  !  There,  don't  stand  staring, 
my  good  man,  hold  up  the  waistcoat, 

—  now  strap  it  tight  — tighter  —  no, 
nonsense  —  lloliinson  was  strapped 
tighter  than  that  yesterday.  I  want 
to  know  what  we  are  doing  to  our  fel- 
low-creatures in  this  place.  The  col- 
lar now." 

"  But,  sir,  the  collar  will  nip  you. 
I  tell  you  that  bcfondiand." 

"  Not  more  th:in  it  nips  my  pris- 
oners. Now  strap  me  to  the  wall. 
Why  do  YOU  lu-sitate  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  doing 
ri^tht,  sir,  you  being  a  par«;on.  Per- 
haps I  sliall  have  no  luck  after  this." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Evans.  Volenti 
non  fil  injuria,  —  that  means,  you 
may  torture  a  bishop,  if  he  bids  you." 


"  There  you  are,  sir." 

"  Yes  !  here  I  am.  Now  go  away, 
and  come  in  half  an  hoiir." 

"  I  think  I  hail  better  stay,  sir. 
You  will  soon  be  sick  of  it." 

"  Go,  and  come  in  half  an  hour," 
was  the  firm  reply. 

Our  chaplain  ielt  that,  if  the  man 
did  not  go,  he  should  not  be  five  min- 
utes before  he  asked  to  be  released, 
and  he  was  determined  to  know  "  what 
we  are  doing." 

Evans  had  not  been  gone  ten  min- 
utes before  he  bitterly  repented  letting 
him  go,  and,  when  that  worthy  re- 
turned, he  found  him  muttering  faint- 
ly, "  It  is  in  a  good  cause,  —  it  is  in  a 
good  cause." 

Evans  wore  a  grin. 

"  You  shall  j)ay  for  that  grin,"  said 
the  chaplain  to  himself. 

"  Well,  sir,  have  you  had  enough 
of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Evans,  you  may  loose  me," 
said  the  other,  with  afi'ected  noncha.' 
lance. 

"  What  is  it  like,  sir  ?  haw !  haw !  " 

"  It  is,  as  you  described  it,  o/jcom- 
fortable ;  but  the  knowledge  I  have 
gained  in  it  is  invaluable.  You  shall 
share  it." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  You  can 
tell  ma  what  it  "is  like." 

"  O  no,  such  knowledge  can  never 
be  imparted  by  description  ;  you  shall 
take  your  turn  in  the  jacket." 

"  Not  if  I  know  it." 

"  What,  not  for  the  sake  of  knowl- 
edge ?  " 

"  O,  I  can  guess  what  it  is  like." 

"  But  you  will  obli<:e  me  1  " 

"  Some  other  way.  sir,  if  you 
please." 

"  Besides,  I  will  give  you  a  guinea." 

"  O,  that  alters  the  case,  sir.  But 
only  for  half  an  hour" 

"  Only  for  half  an  hour." 

Evans  was  triced  up  and  pinned  to 
the  wall ;  the  chaplain  took  out  a 
guinea  and  placed  it  in  his  sight,  and 
walked  out. 

In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned, 
and  there  was  Evans,  his  face  drawn 
down  by  pain. 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE /TO  MEND. 


95 


"  Well,  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

*'  O,  pretty  well,  sir,  it  is  n't  worth 
making  an  outcry  about." 

"  Only  a  little  o?jcomfortable." 

"  Tliat  is  all ;  if  it  was  n't  for  the 
confounded  crump." 

"  Let  us  compare  notes,"  said  the 
chaplain,  sitting  down  opposite.  "  I 
found  it  worse  than  uncomfortable. 
First,  there  was  a  terrible  sense  of 
utter  impotence,  then  came  on  rack- 
ing cramps,  for  which  there  was  no 
relief,  because  I  could  not  move." 

"Oh!" 

"What?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir  !  mum  —  mum  — 
dear  guinea  !  " 

"  The  jagged  collar  gave  me  much 
pain,  too  ;  it  rasped  my  poor  throat 
like  a  file." 

"  Why  the  dickens  didn't  you  tell 
me  all  tliis  before  ?  "  said  Evans,  rue- 
fully ;  "  it  is  no  use  now  I  Ve  been  and 
gone  into  the  same  oven  like  a  fool." 

"  I  had  my  reasons  for  not  telling 
you  before;  good  by  for  the  present." 

"  Don't  stay  over  the  half-hour  for 
goodness'  sake,  sir." 

"No  !  adieu  for  the  present." 

He  did  not  go  far  :  he  listened  and 
heard  the  plucky  Evans  groan.  He 
came  hastily  in. 

"  Courage,  my  fine  fellow,  only 
eight  minutes  more  and  the  guinea  is 
yours." 

" How  many  more  minutes,  sir?  " 

"  Eight." 

"  Then,  oh  !  undo  me,  sir,  if  you 
plea'^e." 

"  What,  forfeit  the  guinea  for  eight 
minutes,  —  seven,  it  is  only  seven 
now. 

"  Hang  the  guinea,  let  me  down, 
sir,  if  there  's  pity  in  you  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the 
reverend  gentleman,  pocketing  the 
guinea,  and  he  loosed  Evans  with  all 
speed. 

The  man  stretched  his  limbs  with 
ejaculations  of  pain  between  every 
stretch,  and  put  his  handkerchief  on 
very  gingerly.  He  looked  sulky  and 
said  nothing.  The  other  watched 
him  keenly,  for  there  was  sonaething 


about  hin|^tlta^  showed  his  mind  was 
workiui 

'*  There  is'V^jnr  guinea. 

"O  no!  I  didn'tfeajcn  it.' 

"  O,  if  you  think  that "  (putting  it  to 
the  lips  of  his  pocket)^  "let  me  make 
you  a  present  of  it"  (handing  it  out 
again).  Evans  smiled.  "Itisagood 
servant.  That  little  coin  has  got  me 
one  friend  more  for  these  poor  pris- 
oners. You  don't  understand  me, 
Evans.  Well,  you  will.  Now,  look 
at  me ;  from  this  moment,  sir,  you  and 
I  stand  on  a  different  footing  from 
others  in  this  jail.  We  know  what 
we  are  doing  when  we  put  a  prisoner 
in  that  thing  ;  the  others  don't.  The 
greater  the  knowledge,  the  greater  the 
guilt.  May  we  both  be  kept  from  the 
crime  of  cruelty.     Good  night !  " 

"Good  night,  your  reverence!" 
said  the  man,  gently,  awed  by  his  sud- 
den solemnity. 

The  chaplain  retired.  Evans  looked 
after  him,  and  then  down  into  his 
own  hand. 

"  Well,  I  'm  blowed  !  —  Well,  I  'm 
blest !  —  Got  a  guinea,  though  ! !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Governor  Hawes  had  qualities 
good  in  themselves,  but  ill-directed, 
and  therefore  not  good  in  their  results, 
—  determination  for  one.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  Aield  a  step  to  opposi- 
tion. He  was  a  much  greater  man 
than  Jones  :  he  was  like  a  torrent,  to 
whose  progress  if  you  oppose  a  great 
stone,  it  brawls  and  struggles  past  it 
and  round  it  and  over  it  with  more 
vigor  than  before. 

"  I  will  be  master  in  this  jail !  " 
was  the  creed  of  Hawes.  He  docked 
Robinson's  supper  one  half,  ditto  his. 
breakfast  next  day,  and  set  him  a  tre- 
mendous task  of  crank.  Now  in  jail 
a  day's  food  and  a  day's  crank  are 
too  nicely  balanced  to  admit  of  the 
weiixhts  being  tampered  with.  So 
Robinson's  demi-starvation  paved  the 
way  for  further  punishment.     At  one 


96 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEXD.' 


o'clock  he  was  five  hundred  revolu- 
tions short,  and,  instead  of  goin;;  to 
his  dinner,  he  was  tied  up  in  tiie  in- 
fernal machine.  Now  the  new  chap- 
lain came  three  tiiiics  in!o  the  yard 
that  day,  and  the  thiid  time,  ahout 
four  o'clock,  he  found  Robinson 
piuned  to  the  wall,  jammed  in  the 
waistcoat,  and  griped  in  the  collar. 
His  blood  ran  cohi  at  si<;ht  of  him, 
for  the  man  had  been  hours  in  tlie 
pillorv,  and  nature  was  giving  way. 

"  Wliat  has  he  done  1  " 

"  Kcfra-tory  at  crank." 

"  I  saw  him  working  at  the  crauk 
when  I  came  here  last." 

"  Has  n't  made  his  number  good, 
though." 

"  ilumph !  You  have  the  gover- 
nor's own  orders  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  long  is  he  to  be  so  ?  " 

"Till  fresh  orders." 

"  I  will  see  the  etfrct  of  this  punish- 
ment on  the  prisoner  and  note  it  down 
for  my  report."  And  he  took  out  his 
note-book,  and  leaned  his  back  against 
the  wall. 

The  simple  action  of  ticking  out  a 
notebook  gave  the  op'-rarors  a  cer- 
tain qualm  of  doubt.  Fry  whispered 
Ilodnes  to  go  and  tell  the  governor. 
On  his  return  Hodires  found  the  par- 
ties as  he  had  left  tiiem,  except  Rob- 
inson, —  he  was  paler  and  his  lips 
turning  bluer. 

"  Your  victim  is  fainting,"  said  the 
chaplain,  sternfy. 

"  Only  shamuiing,  sir,"  said  Fry. 
"  Bucket,  Hodges." 

The  bucket  was  brought  and  the 
contents  were  flung  over  Robinson. 

The  chaplain  gave  a  cry  of  dismay. 
The  turnkeys  both  laughed  at  this. 

"You  see  he  was  only  shamming, 
sir,"  said  Hodges.  "  He  is  come  to 
the  moment  the  Ava'er  touched  him." 

"  A  plain  proof  he  was  not  sham- 
ming. A  bucket  of  water  thrown 
over  anyone  about  to  faint  would  al- 
ways bring  them  to:  hut  ii' a  man 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  sham,  he 
could  do  it  in  spite  of  water.  Of 
course  you  will  take  him  down  now  1 " 


"  Not  till  fresh  orders." 

"  On  your  peril  be  it  if  any  harm 
befalls  this  prisoner,  —  you  are 
warned." 

At  this  juncture  Ilawes  came  into 
the  yard.  His  cheek  was  flushed  and 
his  eye  glittered.  He  expected  and 
rather  hoped  a  collision  with  his  rev- 
erence. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir  ;  only  his  reverence  is 
threatening  us." 

"  What  is  he  threatening  you 
for  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hawes,  I  told  these  men  that 
I  should  hold  them  responsible  if  any 
harm  came  to  the  prisoner  for  their 
cruelty.  I  now  tell  you  that  he  has 
just  fainted  from  bodily  distress 
ca«sed  by  this  infernal  engine,  and  I 
hold  you,  Mr.  Hawes,  re>ponsil)le  for 
this  man's  life  and  well-being,  which 
are  here  attacked  contrary  to  the  cus- 
tom of  all  her  Majesty's  prisons,  and 
contrary  to  the  intention  of  all  punish- 
ment, which  is  for  the  culprit's  good, 
not  for  his  injury  either  in  soul  or 
body." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  ?  "  said 
Hawe<,  glaring  contemptuously  at  the 
turnkevs,  who  wore  rather  a  blank 
look.   ' 

"  Mr.  Ilawes,"  replied  the  other, 
gravely,  "  I  have  spoken  to  warn  you, 
not  to  threaten  you." 

"  What  I  do  is  done  with  the  con- 
sent of  the  visiting  justices.  They 
are  my  masters,  and  no  one  else." 

"  They  have  not  seen  a  prisoner 
erucitied." 

"  Crucified  !  What  d'  ye  mean  br 
cruciHed  ? " 

"  Don't  you  see  that  the  torture  be- 
fore our  eyes  is  crucifixion  ?  " 

"  No  !  i  don't.     No  nails  1  " 

"  Nails  were  not  always  us-r-d  in 
crucifixion;  sometimes  cords.  Don't 
deceive  yourself  with  a  name;  noth- 
ing misleads  like  a  filso  name.  This 
])unishnient  is  falsely  called  the  j  icket, 
—  it  is  jacket,  collar,  straps,  applied 
with  cruelty.  It  is  crucifixion  minus 
nails  but  plus  a  collar." 

"  Whatever  it  is,  the  justices  have 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


97 


spcn  and  approved  it.  Have  n't  thev, 
Fry  J" 

"  Tliat  they  have,  sir;  scores  of 
timi-'s." 

*■  I'hon  may  Heaven  forgive  them 
and  direct  me."  And  the  chaphiin 
entered  the  cell  despondently,  and 
lient  his  pitying  eye  steadily  on  the 
tliicf,  who  seemed  to  him  at  the  mo- 
iii'jnt  a  better  companion  than  the 
three  honest  but  cruel  men. 

He  waited  there  very,  very  sorrow- 
ful and  thoughtful  for  more  than  half 
an  hour.  Then  Hawes,  who  left  the 
yard  as  soon  as  he  had  conquered  his 
opponent,  sent  in  Evans  with  an  order 
to  take  Robinson  to  his  dormitory. 

The  chaphiin  saw  the  man  taken 
down  from  the  wall,  and  that  done 
went  hastily  to  his  own  house;  there, 
tlie  contest  i)eing  over,  he  was  seized 
with  a  violent  sickness  and  trembling. 
To  see  a  fellow-creature  sutler  and 
not  be  able  to  relieve  him  was  death 
to  this  man.  He  was  game  to  the 
last  drop  of  his  blood  so  long  as  there 
was  any  good  to  be  done,  but,  action 
ended,  a  reaction  caine,  in  wliich  he 
was  all  pity  and  sorrow  and  distress 
because  of  a  fellow-creature's  distress. 
Ni)  one  that  saw  his  firmness  in  the 
torture-cell  would  have  guessed  how 
weak  he  was  within,  and  how  stoutly 
Ids  great  heart  had  to  battle  against  a 
sensitive  nature  and  nerves  tuned  too 
high. 

He  gave  half  an  hour  to  the  weak- 
ness of  nature,  and  then  he  was  all 
dutv  once  more. 

He  went  first  into  Robinson's  cell. 
He  found  him  worse  than  ever  :  de- 
spair as  well  as  hatred  gleamed  in  his 
eye. 

"  My  poor  fellow,  is  there  no  way 
for  you  to  avoid  these  dreadful  pun- 
ishnients  ?  " 

No  answer. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  though,  that 
Robinson  had  no  idea  how  far  the 
th;iplain  had  carried  his  remonstrance 
against  his  torture  ;  that  remonstrance 
had  been  uttered  privately  to  the  turn- 
keys and  the  governor.  Besides,  the 
man  was  half  stupefied  when  thechap- 
5 


Iain  first  came  tliere.  And  now  he 
was  in  such  pain  and  des|)aii-.  He 
was  like  the  genii  confined  in  the 
vh(i<t  and  thrown  into  the  wuier  by 
Soiim.m.  Had  this  good  friend  come 
to  him  at  first  starting,  he  would  Inu'C 
thrown  himself  into  his  arms;  but  it 
came  too  late  now :  he  hated  all  man- 
kind. He  had  lost  all  belief  in  gen- 
uine kindness.     Like  Orlando, 

"  He  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage 
here." 

The  chaplain,  on  the  other  hand, 
began  to  think  that  Robinson  was  a 
downright  brute,  and  one  on  whom 
kindness  was  and  would  be  wasted. 
Still,  true  to  his  nature,  he  admitted 
no  small  pique  ;  he  reasoned  gently 
and  kindly  with  him,  —  very  kindly. 

**  My  poor  soul,"  said  he,  "  have 
you  so  many  friends  in  this  hard  place 
that  you  can  afford  to  rcj)ulse  one 
who  desires  to  be  your  friend,  and  to 
do  you  good  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  will  not  let  me 
comfort  you,  at  least  you  cannot  pre- 
vent my  praying  lor  you,  for  you  are 
on  the  road  to  despair  and  will  take 
no  help." 

So  then  this  good  creature  did  act- 
ually kneel  upon  the  hard  stones  of 
the  cell,  and  otfer  a  prayer, —  a  very 
short  but  earnest  one. 

"  0  God,  to  whom  all  hearts  are 
open,  enlighten  me  that  I  may  under- 
stand this  my  afflicted  brother's  heart, 
and  learn  how  to  do  him  good,  and 
comfort  him  out  of  thy  word,  —  thy 
grace  assisting  me." 

Robinson  looked  down  at  him  with 
wild,  staring,  but  lack-lustre  eyes  and 
open  mouth.  He  rose  from  the  floor, 
and,  casting:  a  look  of  great  beni.<2,nity 
on  the  sullen  brute,  he  v/as  al)0ut  to 
go,  Avhen  he  observed  that  Robinson 
was  trembling  in  a  very  peculiar  Avay. 

"  You  are  ill,"  said  he,  hastily,  and 
took  a  step  towards  him. 

At  this  Robinson,  with  a  wild  and 
furious  gesture,  waved  him  to  the 
door,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall ; 
then  this  refined  gentleman  bowed  his 


98 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


he;i(l,  as  much  as  to  say,  you  shall  be 
master  of  this  a])artineiit  and  dismiss 
any  one  you  do  not  like,  and  went 
pcntly  away  with  a  little  siirh.  And 
the  last  that  he  saw  was  liohinson, 
trenil)linj^  with  averted  lace  mkI  eyes 
bent  down. 

Outside  he  met  Evans,  who  said  to 
him,  half  bluntly,  half  respectfully,  "  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  ^^oini;  in  o  that 
cell,  sir  ;  the  man  is  not  to  be  tiusted. 
lie  is  very  stran<j:e." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you 
fear  for  his  reason  1  " 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?  We  have  sent 
a  pretty  many  to  the  lunatic  asylum 
since  I  was  a  warder  here." 

"  Ah  I  " 

"  And  some  haA-e  broke  prison  a 
shorter  way  than  that,"  said  the  man, 
very  gloomily. 

The  chaplain  groaned,  and  looked 
at  the  speaker  with  an  expression  of 
terror.  Evans  noticed  it,  and  said 
gravely  :  — 

"  You  should  not  have  come  to  such 
a  place  as  this,  sir  ;  you  are  not  fit  for 
it." 

"  Wliy  am  I  not  fit  for  it?" 

"  Too  good  for  if,  sir." 

"  You  talk  foolishly,  Mr.  Evans. 
In  the  first  place,  '  too  good  '  is  a  ludi- 
crous combinaiion  of  language  ;  in  the 
next,  the  wor^e  a  place  is,  the  more 
need  of  somebody  being  good  in  it  to 
make  it  better.  But  I  suppose  yon  are 
one  of  tliose  who  think  that  evd  is 
naturally  strontier  than  ircjod.  Delu- 
sion,—  springs  lioin  this;  that  the 
wicked  are  in  earnest  and  the  good 
are  lukewarm.  Good  is  stronger  than 
evil.  A  single  really  uood  nian  in  an 
ill  ]ilace  is  like  a  little  yeast  in  a  gal- 
lon of  dou<;h  ;  it  can  leaven  tiie  mass. 
If  8r.  Paul  or  even  George  Whittield 
had  been  in  loot's  {dace  all  those  yenrs, 
there  would  have  been  more  tii.an 
fifty  good  men  in  Sodom;  but  this 
is  out  of  place.  I  want  you  to  give 
nie  the  benefit  of  your  cxpeririice. 
Evans.  When  I  went  to  Kubin.-on 
and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  lie  ti;emhK'd 
all  over.  What  on  earth  does  that 
mean  ?  " 


"  Trembled,  did  he,  and  never 
spoke  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  Well  ?  " 

"  I  'in  thinking,  sir  !  I  'm  think- 
ing.    You  did  n't  touch  him  1  " 

"  Touch  him  ?  No  what  should  I 
touch  him  for?  " 

"  Well,  don't  do  it,  sir.  And  don't 
go  near  him.  You  have  had  an  es- 
cape, you  have.  He  was  in  two 
minds  about  pitching  into  you." 

"  You  think  it  was  rage  !  Humph  ! 
it  did  not  give  me  that  impression." 

"  Sir,  did  you  ever  go  to  pat  a 
strange  dog  ?  " 

**  I  have  done  myself  that  honor." 

"  Well,  if  he  wags  his  tail  you  know 
it  is  all  right ;  but  say  he  puts  tail 
between  his  legs,  what  will  he  do  if 
you  pat  him  ?  " 

"  Bite  me  ;  experto  crcde." 

"  No  !  if  you  are  ever  so  expert  he 
will  bite  you,  or  try.  Now  putting 
of  his  tail  between  his  legs,  that  passes 
for  a  sign  of  fear  in  a  dog,  all  one  as 
trembling  does  in  a  man.  Do  you 
see  what  I  am  driving  at  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  had  better  leave  the 
spiteful  brute  to  himself!" 

"No!  that  would  be  to  condemn 
him  to  the  worst  companion  he  c;in 
have." 

"  But  if  he  should  pitch  into  you, 
sir?" 

"  Then  he  will  pitch  into  a  m.m 
twice  !>s  strong  as  him^iclf  and  a  pupil 
of  Beiidigo.     Don't  be  silly,  Evans." 


llodpcs.  Pity  vou  was  n't  in  chapel, 
Mr.  Frv. 

Fn/.'  Why? 

JlwUjes.    The  new  chaplain  ! 

Fr,/.    Well,  what  did  he  do  ? 

ILnlqes.  He  waked  'em  all  up,  I 
can  tell  you.  .  Governor  could  n't  get 
a  wink  iill  the  sermon. 

Fi-fi.    Whnt  did  lie  tell  you  ? 

HihIics.    Told  us  he  loved  us. 

Frtj.    Loved  who  ? 

Hoih/fs.  All  of  us.  Governor, 
turnkeys,  and  espeeially  the  prisoners. 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


99 


because  they  were  in  trouble.  "My 
Master  loves  you,  thou<ih  he  hates 
your  sins,"  says  he ;  "  and  I  love 
every  mother's  son  of  you."  What 
d'ye  tliink  of  that?  He  loves  the 
whole  biliiifc !    Told  'em  so,  however. 

Fiji.  Loves  'em,  does  he  ?  Well, 
that's  a  new  lay!  After  all  there's 
no  accounting  for  tastes,  you  know. 
Haw  !  haw  ! 

Jlodijes.    Haw  !  haw  !  ho  ! 

This  same  Sunday  afternoon  soon 
after  service  the  chaplain  came  to 
Kohinson's  cell.  Evans  unlocked  it 
lookin<2:  rather  uneasy,  and  would  have 
come  in  with  the  reverend  gentleman  : 
but  he  forbade  him,  and  walked  quick- 
ly into  the  cell,  as  Van  Amburgh 
goes  among  his  leopards  and  pan- 
thers. He  had  in  his  hand  a  little 
box. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  oint- 
ment, —  some  nice  cooling  ointment," 
said  he,  "  to  rub  on  your  neck.  I 
saw  it  was  frayed  by  that  collar." 

(Pause.)     No  answer. 

"  Will  you  let  me  me  see  you  use 
it?" 

No  answer. 

"  Come  ! " 

No  answer. 

The  chaplain  took  the  box  off  the 
table,  opened  it,  and  went  up  to  Rob- 
inson, and  began  qixietly  to  apply 
some  of  the  grateful,  soothing  oint- 
ment to  his  frayed  throat.  The  man 
trembled  all  over.  The  chaplain  kept 
his  eye  cnlm  but  firm  upon  him,  as  on 
a  doir  of  doubtful  temper.  Robinson 
put  up  his  hand  in  a  feeble  sort  of 
way  to  prevent  the  other  from  doing 
him  good.  His  reverence  took  the 
s:iid  hand  in  a  quiet,  but  powerful 
grasp,  and  applied  the  ointment  all 
the  same.  Rohinson  said  nothing, 
but  he  was  seized  with  this  extraordi- 
nary trembling. 

"  Good  bv,"  said  his  reverence, 
kindly.  "  I  leave  you  the  box  ;  and 
see,  here  are  some  tracts  I  have  select- 
e<l  for  you.  ^  hey  are  not  dull;  there 
aie  stories  in  them,  and  the  dialogue 
is  pretty  good.  It  is  nearer  nature 
than   you   will   find   it  in   works   of 


greater  pretension.  Here  a  carpenter 
talks  something  like  a  rarpcnter,  and 
a  footman  something  like  a  footmiin, 
and  a  factory-^irl  somctliing  like  a 
girl  employed  in  a  factory.  They 
don't  all  talk  book,  — you  will  be  able 
to  read  them.  Begin  with  this  one,  — 
'The  Waoes  of  Sin  are  Death.' 
Good  by  !  "  And  with  these  words 
and  a  kind  smile  he  left  the  cell. 

"  From  the  chaplain,  sir,"  said 
Evans  to  the  governor,  touching  his 
hat. 

"Deah  Sir:  — 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send 
me  by  the  bearer  a  copy  of  the  pris- 
on-rules, especially  those  that  treat 
of  the  punishments  to  be  inflicted  on 
prisoners. 

"I  am 

"  Yours,  &c." 

Hawes  had  no  sooner  read  this  in- 
nocent-looking missive,  than  he  burst 
out  into  a  tide  of  execrations  ;  he  con- 
cluded by  saying,  "  Tell  him  I  have 
not  got  a  spare  copy ;  Mr.  Jones  will 
give  him  his." 

This  answer  disappointed  the  chap- 
lain sadly  ;  for  Mr.  Jones  had  left  the 
town,  and  was  not  expected  to  return 
for  some  days.  The  hostile  spirit  of 
the  governor  was  evident  in  this  reply. 
The  chaplain  felt  he  was  at  war.  and 
his  was  an  energetic  but  peace-loving 
nature.  He  paced  the  corridor,  look- 
ing both  thoughifiil  and  snd.  The 
rough  Evans  eyed  him  with  interest, 
and  he  also  fill  into  meditation,  and 
scratched  his  head,  invarial)le  concom- 
itant of  thought  with  Evans. 

It  was  towards  evening,  and  his 
reverence  still  paced  the  corridor, 
down-hearted  at  opposition  and  wick- 
edness, liut  not  without  hope,  and  full 
of  lovely  and  charitable  wishes  for  all 
his  flock,  when  the  melancholy  Fry 
suddenly  came  out  of  a  prisoner's  cell 
radiant  with  joy. 

"  What  is  amiss  ?  "  asked  the  chap- 
lain. 

"  This  is  the  matter,"  said  Fry,  and 
he  showed  him  a  deuce  of  clubs,  a  five 


100 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


of  hearts,  anrl  an  ace  of  diamonds, 
and  so  on  ;  two  or  three  cards  of  each 
suit.  "  A  prisoner  has  been  makinj^ 
these  out  of  his  tracts  !  " 
"  How  coultl  he  do  that  ?  " 
"  Look  here,  sir.  He  has  kept  a 
little  of  his.<:rucl  till  it  turned  to  paste, 
and  then  lie  has  pasted  three  or  four 
leaves  of  the  tracts  together  and  dried 
them,  and  then  cut  them  into  cards." 

"But  the  colors,  —  how  could  he 
get  them  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  beats  me  altogether ; 
but  some  of  these  prisoners  know  more 
than  the  bench  of  bishops." 

"  More  evil,  I  conclude  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  More  of  all  sorts,  sir.     However, 

I  am    taking  them  to  the  governor, 

and  he  will  fathom  it  if  any  one  can." 

"  Leave  one  red  card  and  one  black 

with  me." 

While  Fry  was  gone,  the  chaplain 
examined  the  cards  with  curiosity, 
and  that  admiration  of  inventive  re- 
source which  a  superior  mind  cannot 
help  feeling.  There  they  were,  a  fine 
red  deuce  of  hearts,  and  a  fine  black 
four  of  spades,  — cards  made  without 
pasteboard  and  painted  without  paint. 
But  how  ?  that  was  the  question. 
The  chapbiin  entered  upon  this  ques- 
tion with  his  usual  zeal ;  but,  happen- 
ing to  reverse  one  of  the  cards,  it  was 
his  fate  to  see  on  the  back  of  it :  — 

"  The  Wages  of  Sin  are  Death." 

A  Tract. 

He  reddened  at  the  sight.  Here  was 
an  alfront!  "  The  sulky  brute  could 
amuse  himself  cutting  up  my  tracts  !  " 

Presently  the  governor  came  up 
witli  his  satellites. 

"Take  No.  19  out  of  his  cell  for 
punishment." 

At  this  word  the  chaplain's  short- 
lived anger  began  to  cool.  They 
brouLi^ht  llobinson  out. 

"  So  you  have  been  at  it  again," 
cried  the  govrnor,  in  threatening 
terms.  "  Now  you  will  tell  mo  where 
you  got  the  paint  to  make  these  beau- 
ties with "? " 


No  answer. 

"  Do  you  hear,  ye  sulky  bnite  ?  " 
No   answer,   but  a  glittering    eye 
bent  on  Hawe.s. 

"  Put  him  in  the  jacket,"  cried 
Ilawes,  with  an  oath. 

Hod;,'CS  and  Fry  laid  each  a  hand 
upon  tlie  man's  shoulder,  and  walked 
him  otf. 

"  Stop,"  cried  Hawes,  suddenly  ; 
"  his  reverence  is  here,  and  he  is  not 
partial  to  the  jacket." 

The  chaplain  was  innocent  enough 
to  make  a  graceful,  grateful  bow  to 
Hawes. 

"  Give  him  the  dark  cell  for  twenty- 
four  hours,"  continued  Hawes,  with 
a  malicious  grin. 

The  thief  gave  a  cryof  dismay,  and 
shook  himself  clear  of  the  turnkeys. 

"  Anything  but  that,"  cried  he,  with 
trembling  voice. 

"  O,  you  have  found  your  tongue, 
have  you?  " 

"  Any  punishment  but  that,"  al- 
most shrieked  the  despairing  man. 
"  Leave  me  my  reason.  You  have 
robbed  me  of  everything  else.  For 
pity's  sake  leave  me  my  rea.son  !  " 

The  governor  mule  a  signal  to  the 
turnkeys ;  they  stepped  towards  the 
thief.  The  thief  spruni:  out  of  their 
way,  his  eye  rolling  wildly,  as  if  in 
search  of  escape.  Seeini:  this,  the 
two  turnkeys  durtcd  at  him  like  bull- 
dogs, one  on  each  side.  This  time, 
instead  of  flying,  the  thief  was  ob- 
served to  move  his  boly  in  a  springy 
way  ro  meet  them;  with  two  motions 
rapid  as  light,  and  almost  contempo- 
raneous, he  Ciiught  Hodges  between 
the  eyes  with  his  fist,  ami  drove  his 
head  like  a  battering-ram  into  Fry's 
belly.  Sm  ick  !  ootf !  and  tlie  two 
powerful  men  went  down  like  nine- 
pins. 

In  a  moment  all  the  warders  within 
sight  or  hearing  cainc  buzzing  round, 
and  HodLTCs  and  Fry  got  up,  the  fat- 
ter l)leeding,  both  starinir  confusediy. 
Seeiii'j  himself  hemm d  in,  Robinson 
offered  no  further  resistance.  Ho 
plum|i"d  himself  down  on  the  ground, 
and  there  sat,  aud  they  had  to  take 


«IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


101 


him  up  and  carry  him  to  the  dark 
cells.  But,  as  they  were  draixginj^ 
him  alont;  by  the  shoulders,  he  cauj^ht 
si,i;ht  of  the  jrovernor  and  chaplain 
lookinu'  down  at  him  over  the  rails  of 
corridor  B.  At  sight  of  the  latter,  the 
thief  urenched  himself  free  from  his 
attendants,  and  screamed  to  him  :  — 

"  Do  you  see  this,  you  in  the  black 
coat  ?  You  that  told  us  the  other  day 
you  loved  us,  and  now  stand  coolly 
there  and  see  me  taken  to  the  black- 
liole  to  be  got  ready  for  the  mad- 
house !     D'  ye  hear  1  " 

"  I  hear  you,"  replied  the  chap- 
lain, jrravely  and  gently. 

"  You  called  us  vour  brothers,  you." 
"  I  did,  and  do." 

"  Well,  then,  here  is  one  of  your 
brothers  being  taken  to  hell  before 
your  eyes.  I  go  there  a  man,  but  I 
shall  come  out  a  beast,  and  that  cow- 
ardly murderer  by  your  side  knows 
it,  and  you  have  not  a  word  to  say. 
That  is  all  a  poor  fellow  gets  by  be- 
ing your  brother.  My  curse  on  you 
all !  butchers  and  hypocrites  !  " 
"Give  him  twelve  hours  more  for 

that,"    roared      Hawes.      " his 

eyes,  I  '11  break  him, him." 

"Ah,"  yelled  the  thief,  "you 
curse  me,  do  you?  d'ye  hear  that? 
The  son  of  a appeals  to  Heav- 
en against  me  !  What  ?  does  this 
lump  of  dirt  believe  there  is  a  God  1 
Then  there  must  be  one."  Then, 
suddenly  flinging  himself  on  his 
knees,  he  cried,  "If  there  is  a  God 
who  pities  them  that  suffer,  I  cry  to 
him  on  my  knees  to  torture  you  as 
3'ou  torture  us.  May  your  name  be 
shame,  may  yonr  life  be  pain,  and 
your  death  loatlisome !  May  your 
skin  rot  from  your  flesh,  your  flesh 
from  your  bones,  your  bones  from 
your  holy,  and  your  soul  split  forever 
on  the  rock  of  damnation  !  " 

"  Take  him  away,"  yelled  Hawes, 
white  as  a  sheet. 

They  tore  him  away  by  force,  still 
threatening  his  persecutor  with  out- 
Btretched  hand  and  raging  voice  and 
blazing  eyes,  and  flung  him  into  the 
dark  dungeon. 


"  Cool  yourself  there,  ye  varmint," 
said  Fry,  spitefully.  Even  his  flesh 
crept  at  the  man's  blasphemies. 

Meantime,  the  chaplain  had  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands,  tiud  trembled 
like  a  woman  at  the  frightful  blaS' 
phemies  and  passions  of  these  two 
sinners. 

"I'll  make  this  place  hell  to  him. 
He  sha'  n't  need  to  go  elsewhere," 
muttered  Hawes  aloud  between  his 
clenched  teeth. 

The  chaplain  groaned. 

The  governor  heard  him  and  turned 
on  him  :  "  Well,  parson,  you  see  he 
does  n't  thank  you  for  interfering  be- 
tween him  and  me.  He  would  rath- 
er have  had  an  hour  or  two  of  the 
jacket  and  have  done  with  it." 

The  chaplain  sighed.  He  felt 
weighed  down  in  spirit  by  the  wick- 
edness both  of  Hawes  and  of  Robin- 
son. He  saw  it  Avas  in  vain  at  that 
moment  to  try  to  soften  the  former  in 
favor  of  the  latter.  He  moved  slowly 
away.     Hawes  eyed  him  sneerinixly. 

"  He  is  down  upon  his  luck," 
thought  Hawes;  "his  own  fault  for 
interfering  with  me.  I  liked  the  man 
well  enough,  and  showed  it,  if  he 
had  n't  been  a  fool  and  put  his  nose 
into  my  business." 

Half  an  hour  had  scarce  elapsed 
when  the  chaplain  came  back. 

"  Mr.  Hawes,  I  come  to  you  as  a 
petitioner." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Hawes,  with  a  su- 
percilious sneer  very  hard  to  bear. 

The  other  would  not  notice  it. 
"  Pray  do  not  think  I  side  with  a  re- 
fractory prisoner  if  I  beg  you  not  to 
countermand,  but  to  modify  Robin- 
son's punishment."    . 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Because  he  cannot  bear  so  many 
hours  of  the  dark  ceil." 

"  Nonsense,  sir." 

"Is  it  too  much  to  ask  that  you 
will  give  him  six  hours  a  day  for  four 
days,  instead  of  twenty-four  at  a 
stretch  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  too 
much  for  you  to  ask.  I  should  say 
by  what  I  see  of  you  that  nothing  is ; 


102 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


l>ut  it  is  too  much  for  me  to  grant. 
The  man  has  earned  punishinent ;  he 
has  ^^ot  it,  and  you  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  at  all." 

''  Yes,  I  have  the  care  of  his  soul, 
and  how  can  I  do  his  soul  good  if  he 
loses  his  reason  i  " 

"Stuff!  his  reason  's  safe  enough, 
what  little  he  has." 

"  Do  not  say  stuff!  Do  not  be  rash 
where  tlie  stake  is  so  great,  or  conti- 
dent  where  you  have  no  knowledge. 
You  have  never  been  in  the  dark  cell, 
]\Ir.  Ilawcs  ;  I  have  ;  and  I  assure 
you  it  tried  my  nerves  to  the  utter- 
most. 1  had  many  advantages  over 
this  poor  man.  I  went  in  of  my  own 
accord,  animated  by  a  desire  of  knowl- 
edge, supported  by  the  consciousness 
of  right,  my  memory  enriched  by  the 
reading  of  five-and-twenty  years,  on 
which  I  could  draw  in  the  absence  of 
external  objects  ;  yet  so  dreadful  was 
the  place,  that,  had  I  not  been  forti- 
fied by  communion  with  my  omnipres- 
ent God,  I  do  think  my  reason  would 
have  suffered  in  that  thick  darkness 
and  solitude.  I  repeated  thousands  of 
lines  of  Homer,  Virgi!,  and  the  Greek 
dramatists  ;  then  I  came  to  Shake- 
speare, Corneille,  Racine,  and  Victor 
Plugo;  then  I  tried  to  think  of  a  text 
and  compose  a  sermon  ;  but  the  min- 
utes seemed  hours,  leaclen  hours,  and 
they  weighed  my  head  down  and 
my  heart  down,  and  so  did  the  Egyp- 
tian darkness,  till  1  sought  refuge  in 
prayer,  and  there  I  found  it." 

'*  You  pulled  through  it  and  so 
will  he  ;  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  it  is 
too  slight  a  punishment  to  give  a  re- 
fractory blaspheming  villain  no  worse 
than  a  pious  gentleman  took  on  him 
for  sport,"  sneered  Hawes.  "  You 
heanl  his  language  to  me,  the  blas- 
pheming dog  ?  " 

"  I  did  !  I  did  !  and  therefore  pray 
you  to  pity  his  sinful  soul  exasperat- 
ed by  the  sevt'ritit's  he  has  already  un- 
dergone. O  sir!  the  wicked  are 
mure  to  be  pitied  than  tlie  good  ;  and 
the  good  can  endure  trials  that  wreck 
the  wicked.  I  would  rather  see  a 
righteous  man  thrown  iuio  that  dis- 


mal dungeon  than  this  poor  blasphem- 
ing sinner." 

"  The  deuce  you  would  !  " 

"  For  the  righteous  man  has  a 
strong  tower  that  the  sinner  lacks, 
lie  is  fit  to  battle  with  solitude  and 
feaiful  darkness ;  an  unseen  lipht 
shines  upon  his  soul,  an  unseen  hand 
sustains  him.  The  darkness  is  no 
darkness  to  him,  for  the  Sun  of  right- 
eousness is  nigh.  In  the  deep  soli- 
tude he  is  not  alone,  for  good  angels 
whisper  by  his  side.  '  Yea,  though 
he  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  yet  shall  he  fear  no 
evil,  for  God  is  with  him  ;  his  rod  and 
his  staff  they  comfort  him.'  The 
wicked  have  not  this  comf  )rt :  to  them 
darkness  and  solitude  must  be  too 
horrible.  Satan  —  not  God  —  is  their 
companion.  The  ghosts  of  their  past 
crimes  rise  and  swell  the  present  hor- 
ror. Remorse  and  despair  are  added 
to  the  double  gloom  of  solitude  and 
darkness.  You  don't  know  what  you 
are  doing  when  you  shut  up  a  poor 
lost  sinner  of  excitable  temperament 
in  that  dreadful  hole.  It  is  awihl  ex- 
periment on  a  human  frame.  Pray 
be  advised,  pray  be  warned,  pray  let 
your  heart  be  softened,  and  punish 
the  man  as  he  destrves,  —  but  do  not 
destroy  him  !  O,  do  not !  do  not  de- 
stroy him  !  " 

Up  to  this  moment  Hawes  had  worn 
a  quiet,  malicious  grin.  At  hist  his 
rage  broke  through  this  veil.  Ho 
turned  round  black  as  night  ujion  the 
chapla-wi,  who  was  bending  towards 
him  in  earnest,  gasping,  yet  sweet  and 
gentle  supplication. 

"  The  vagabond  insulted  me  before 
all  my  servants,  and  that  is  why  you 
take  his  part.  He  would  send  me  to 
hell  if  he  had  the  upprr  hand.  I've 
got  the  upper  hand,  and  so  he  shall 
taste  it  instead  of  me,  till  he  goes 
down  on  his  marrowbones  to  me  with 

my  foot  on  his  viper's  tongue.     

him  ! " 

"  O.  do  not  curse  him,  —  above  all, 
now  that  he  is  in  trouble  and  defence- 
less." 

"Let  me  alone,  sir,  and  I  '11  let  you," 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


103 


retorted  Hawes,  savagely.  "  If  I 
curse  him,  you  can  pray  for  him.  I 
don't  hinder  you.  Good  night,"  — 
and  Mr.  Hawes  turned  his  back  very 
rudely. 

•'I  will  pray  for  him,  —  and  for 
you  !  " 

"  Ugh ! " 

So  then  the  chaplain  retired  sorrow- 
fully to  his  private  room,  and  here, 
sustained  no  longer  by  action,  his 
high-tuned  nature  gave  way.  A  cold 
languor  came  over  him.  He  locked 
the  door  that  no  one  mij^ht  see  his 
wf  akuess,  and  then,  succumbing  to  na- 
ture, he  fell  Hrst  into  a  sickness  and 
tlien  into  a  trembling,  and  more  than 
once  hysterical  tears  gushed  from  his 
eyes  in  the  temporary  jirostratiou  of 
his  spirit  and  his  powers. 

Such  are  the  great.  Men  know 
their  feats  but  not  their  struggles  ! 

Meantime  Robinson  lay  in  the  dark 
cell,  with  a  morsel  of  bread  and  water, 
and  no  bed  or  chair,  that  hunger  antl 
unrest  might  co-operate  with  darkness 
and  solitude  to  his  hurt.  To  this 
horrid  abode  it  is  now  our  fate  to  fol- 
low a  thief  and  a  blasphemer.  We 
must  pass  his  gloomy  portal,  over 
wliirh  might  have  been  in^cribed  what 
Dante  has  written  over  the  gates  of 
hell:  — 

"  ALL  YE  WHO  ENTER  HKRE  —  ABAN- 
DON   HOPE  !  !  " 

At  six  o'clock  Robinson  was  thrust 
in,  and  his  pittance  of  bread  and 
water  with  him  ;  the  door,  which 
fitted  like  mosaic,  was  closed.  The 
steps  retreated  carrying  away  hope 
and  humankind ;  there  was  silence, 
and  the  man  shivered  in  the  thick 
blnck  iiir  that  seemed  a  fluid,  not  an 
atmosphere. 

When  the  door  closed  his  heart  was 
yet  beating  with  r.ige  and  wild  desire 
of  vengeance.  He  nursed  this  rage  as 
long  as  he  could,  but  the  thick  dark- 
ness sooa  cooled  iiim  and  cowed  him. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  floor,  he  ate  his 
pittance  very  slowly  two  mouthfuls  a 
minute.  "  I  will  be  an  hour  eating 
it,"  said  he,  "and  then  an  hour  will 


liave  passed."  He  thought  he  was  an 
hour  eating  it,  but  in  reality  he  was 
scarce  twenty  minutes.  The  black- 
ness seemed  to  smother  him.  "  I  will 
shut  it  out,"  said  he.  He  took  out 
his  handkerchief  and  wra})ped  his  head 
in  it.  "  What  a  weak  fool  I  am," 
cried  he,  "  when  we  are  aslec])  it  does 
not  matter  to  us  light  or  dark,  I  will 
go  to  sleep."  He  lay  down,  bis  head 
still  wrapped  up,  and  tried  to  sleep. 
So  passed  the  first  hour. 

Second  hour.  He  rose  from  the 
stone  floor  after  a  vain  attempt  to 
sleep.  "  O  no  !  "  cried  he,  "  sleep 
is  for  those  who  are  well  and  happy, 
and  who  could  enjoy  themselves  as 
well  awake,  it  won't  come  to  me  to 
save  a  jioor  wretch  from  despair.  I 
must  tire  myself,  and  I  am  too  cold 
to  sleep  :  here  goes  for  a  warm."  He 
groped  to  the  wall,  and  keejnng  his 
hand  on  it  went  round  and  round  like 
a  caged  tiger.  "  Hawes  hopes  to  d  rive 
me  to  Bedlam.  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can 
for  myself  to  spite  him.  May  he  lie 
in  a  place  narrower  tiian  this,  and  al- 
most as  dark,  with  his  jaw  down  and 
his  toes  up,  before  the  year  is  out, 
curse  him  !  "  But  the  poor  wretch's 
curses  quavered  away  into  sobs  and 
tears.  "  0,  what  have  I  done  to  be 
used  so  as  I  am  here  ?  They  drive 
me  to  despair,  then  drive  me  to  hell 
for  despairing.  Patience,  or  I  shall 
go  mad.  Patience!  Patience!" 
This  hour  was  passed  cursing  and 
weeping,  and  groping  for  warmth 
and  fatigue  —  in  vain. 

Third  hour.  The  man  sat  rocking 
himself  to  and  fro,  trying  not  to 
think  of  anything:  for  now  the  past 
too  was  coming  with  all  its  weight 
u])on  him  ;  every  miimte  he  started 
up  as  if  an  adder  had  stung  him ; 
crawled  about  his  ceil  seeking  refuge 
in  motion,  and  findinir  none  ;  then  he 
threw  himself  on  the  floor  and  strug- 
gled for  sleep.  Sleep  would  not  come 
so  sought  ;  and  now  his  spirits  were 
quite  cowed.  He  would  cringe  to 
Hawes  ;  he  would  lick  the  dust  at  his 
feet  to  get  out  of  this  horrible  place  ; 
who  could  he  get  to  go  and  tell  tha 


104 


"IT   IS   NKVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


governor  he  \vt\spptu'tp>it.  lie  listened 
at  the  door  ;  he  rapped  ;  no  one  came. 
He  put  his  ear  to  tlic  <rrouiid  ami  lis- 
tened ;  no  sound,  —  l)lac'k.ne-;s,  siletwe, 
solitude.  "  They  have  left  nie  here 
to  die,"  sliriekrd  the  dospairini;  man, 
and  he  tlnn<;  him>elf  on  the  floor  and 
writhed  upon  the  luird  stone.  "  It 
must  he  mornin<x,  and  no  one  comes 
near  me;  this  is  my  tomh ! "  fear 
came  upon  him,  and  tremhlinj^  and  a 
cold  sweat  hedewed  his  limhs ;  and 
cnc<'  more  the  past  rushed  over  him 
with  tenfold  force;  days  of  happi- 
ne-;s  and  ( omparative  innocence  now 
forfeited  forever.  His  whole  life 
whirled  round  before  his  eyes  in  a 
panorama,  scene  dissolvino;  into  scene 
with  inconreivahle  rapidity ;  thus 
pas.-ed  more  than  two  hours ;  and 
now  remorse  and  memory  concentrat- 
ed themselves  on  one  dark  spot  in 
this  man's  history.  "  She  is  in  the 
tomb,"  cried  he,  "  and  all  throuirh 
me,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.  This 
is  my  irrave.     Do  you  see  me,  Mary  ? 

—  she  is  here.  The  spirits  of  the  dead 
can  f^o  anywhere."  Then  he  tremhlcd 
and  cried  for  help.  O  for  a  human 
voice  or  a  human  footstep  !  —  none. 
His  nerves  and  senses  were  now  sha- 
ken. He  cried  aloud  most  piteously 
for  help  :  "  Mr.  Fry,  Mr.  IIod;res, 
help  !  he!p  !  help  !  The  cell  is  full 
of  the  dead,  and  devils  are  buzzing 
round  me  waiting    to  carry  me  away, 

—  they  won't  wait  much  longer." 
He  fincied  something  supernatural 
passed  iiim  like  a  wind  ;  he  struck 
wildly  at  it.  He  Hung  himself  madly 
against  the  door  to  escape  it;  he  fell 
back  bruised  and  bleeding,  and  lay  a 
Avhile  in  stupor. 

Si.rth  hour.  Robinson  was  going 
mail.  T'he  blackness  and  solitude 
and  silence  and  remorse  and  despair 
were  more  than  his  excitable  nature 
couM  bear  any  longer.  He  prayed 
Hawes  to  come  and  abn-e  him.  He 
]irayed  Fiy  to  bring  the  jacket  to 
him  "  Let  me  but  see  a  man,  or 
h-ar  a  man!"  He  «creamed,  and 
curbed,  and  ])rayed,  and  d  ishcd  him- 
self on  the  iriuund,  and  ran  round  the 


cell  wounding  his  hands  and  his  face 
Suddenly  he  turned  deadly  calm. 
He  saw  he  was  troing  mad  —  brrier 
die  than  so  —  "I  sh;ill  be  a  licist 
soon  —  I  will  die  a  man"  —  he  toie 
down  his  collar — he  had  on  cot/on 
stockings,  he  took  one  off —  he  ti>  d 
it  in  a  loose  knot  round  his  naked 
throat  —  he  took  a  firm  hold  with 
each  hand. 

And  now  he  was  quiet,  and  sor- 
rowed calmly.  A  man  to  die  in  the 
prime  of  life  for  want  of  a  little  li;:ht 
aiul  a  word  from  a  human  creature 
to  keep  him  from  madness. 

Then,  as  the  thought  returned, 
clenching  his  teeth,  he  gathered  the 
ends  of  the  stocking  and  |»repared  with 
one  fierce  ])ull  to  save  his  shaken  rea- 
son and  end  liis  miserable  days.  Now 
at  this  awful  moment,  while  his 
hinds  irriped  convulsively  the  means 
of  death,  a  quiet  tap  on  the  outside  of 
the  cell  door  suddenly  rang  through 
the  dead  stillness,  and  a  moment  after 
a  human  word  forced  its  way  into  the 
cave  of  madness  and  death,  — 

'•  BUOTIIEU  !  " 

When  this  strange  word  pierced  the 
thick  door,  and  came  into  the  hell- 
cave  feeble  as  though  wafted  over 
water  fn^m  a  distance,  yet  distinct  as 
a  bell  and  bright  as  a  sunbeam,  Kob- 
iiison  started,  and  quaked  with  fear 
and  doubt.  Did  it  come  from  the 
grave,  that  unearthly  tone  and  word  ? 

Still  holdim:  the  ends  of  the  stock- 
ing, he  cried  out  wildly  in  a  loud  but 
quavering  voice  :  — 

'<Who— o— o  calls  Thomas  Sin- 
clair brother?"  The  distant  voice 
rang  back  :  — 

"  Francis  Eden  !  " 

"  Ah !  —  where  are  you,  Francis 
Eden  ?  " 

"  Here  !  within  a  hand's  b-eidrh  of 
you  " ;  and  Mr.  Eden  struck  tiie  lioor. 
•'  Here  !  " 

"  There  !  are  you  there  ^  "  and  Rob- 
inson struck  the  door  on  his  side. 

"  Yes,  here ! 

"  II.i !  don't  go  away,  ];ray  don't 
go  away  !  " 

"  I  don't  mean  to  :  —  take  courage, 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


105 


calm  your  fears,  — a  brother  is  close 
by  you !  " 

"  A  brother  !  —  ajrain  !  now  I  know 
who  it  must  be,  but  there  is  no  telling 
voices  here." 

"  What  were  you  doing  ?  " 

"  What  was  t  doing  ?  Oh  !  don't 
ask  me,  —  I  was  going  mad,  —  where 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  !  "  (rap.) 

"  And  I  am  here  close  opposite  ; 
you  won't  go  away  yet  awhile  ?  " 

"Not  till  you  bid  me,  —  compose 
yourself,  —  do  you  hear  me  1  —  calm 
yourself,  compose  yourself." 

"I  will  try,  sir! — thank  you,  sir, 
r—  1  will  try,  —  what  o'clock  is  it  1  " 

"  Half  past  twelve." 

*'  Night  or  day  ?  " 

"Night." 

"  Friday  night,  or  Saturday  1  " 

"Thursday." 

"  How  came  you  to  be  in  the  pris- 
on at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  I  was  anxious  about  you." 

"  You  were  what  1  " 

"Fearful  about  you." 

"What!  did  you  give  up  your 
sleep  only  to  see  after  me  1 ' 

"  Are  you  not  glad  I  came  1  " 

"  Is  a  shipwrecked  sailor  glad 
when  a  rope  is  flung  him  ?  I  hold  on 
to  life  and  reason  by  you  !  " 

"  Is  not  this  better  than  sleeping  ? 
Did  you  speak  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  am  thinking  !  I  am  try- 
ing to  make  you  out.  Were  you 
ever  a  p (hum)  1  " 

"  Was  I  ever  what  ?  the  door  is  so 
thick  : " 

"  O,  nothing,  sir  ;  you  seem  to 
know  what  a  poor  fellow  suffers  in  a 
dark  cell." 

"  I  have  been  in  it !  " 

"  Whee  -  ugh  -  wheet !  —  what  a 
shame  !  what  did  they  put  you  in 
fori"  \^       ^ 

"  They  did  n't  put  me  in,  I  went  in." 

"  The  devil  you  did !  "  muttered 
the  immured. 

"  What  ?  speak  out." 

"  Nothing,  your  reverence,"  bawled 
Eobinson.  "  Why  did  you  go  into 
such  a  cur —  into  such  a  hole  ?  " 


"  It  was  my  duty  to  know  what  a 
fellow-creatuie  suffers  tliere,  lest, 
through  inexperience,  I  mi;:ht  be 
cruel.  Ignorance  is  the  mother  of 
cruelty !  " 

"  I  hear  you,  sir." 

"  And  cruelty  is  a  fearful  crime  in 
His  eyes  Avhose  servant  I  am," 

"  I  am  thinking,  sir;  I  am  putting 
two  or  three  things  together,  —  I 
see  —  " 

"  Speak  more  slowly  and  articu- 
lately." 

"  i  will ;  I  see  what  you  are  now, 
—  you  are  a  Christian." 

"  I  hope  so  !  " 

"I  might  have  guessed  as  much, 
and  I  did  suspect  it;  but  I  couldn't 
know,  I  had  nothing  to  go  by.  I 
never  fell  in  with  a  Christian  before." 

"  Where  did  you  go  to  look  for 
them,"  asked  Mr.  Eden,  his  mouth 
twitching. 

"  I  have  been  in  many  countries, 
and  my  eyes  open  ;  and  I  've  heard 
and  read  of  Christians,  and  I've  met 
hypocrites;  but  never  met  a  living 
Christian  till  to-night."  Then,  af- 
ter a  pause,  "  Sir,  I  want  to  apolo- 
gize to  you ! " 

"What  for?" 

"  For  my  ignorant  and  ungrateful 
conduct  to  you  in  my  cell." 

"  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones." 

"  Could  you  forgive  me,  sir  ?  " 

"You  punished  yourself,  not  me: 
I  forgive  you." 

"  Thank  you." 

Robinson  was  silent. 

After  a  pause,  Mr.  Eden  tapped. 

"  What  are  you  doing  1  " 

"I  am  thinking  over  your  good- 
ness to  me." 

"  Are  you  better  now  1 " 

"  That  I  am.  The  place  was  a 
tomb  ;  since  you  came  it  is  only  a 
closet.  I  can't  see  your  face,  —  I  feel 
it,  though  ;  and  your  voice  is  music  to 
me.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me, 
sir?" 

"  I  have  many  things  to  say  to 
you  ;  but  this  is  not  the  time.  I  want 
you  to  sleep." 

"  Why.  sir  ?  " 


106 


"IT  IS  NKVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  Sleep  is  the  balm  of  mind  and 
body  ;  you  need  sleep." 

''And  you,  sir  ?  " 

"I  shall  sit  here." 

"  You  will  take  your  death  of 
cold." 

"  No,  I  have  my  great-coat." 

There  was  a  lonj,'  pause. 

Kobinson  tapped.  "  Sir,  grant  me 
a  favor  ?  " 

"  Wluu  is  it  ?  " 

"  Go  home  to  your  bed." 

"  What,  leave  you  1 " 

"  Yes." 

"  Shall  you  not  miss  me  1  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  you  must  go.  The 
words  you  have  spoken  will  stay  with 
me  while  you  are  gone." 

"  I  shall  stay." 

"  No,  sir,  no  !  I  can't  bear  it,  —  it 
is  n't  fair!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  fair  that  a  gentleman  like 
you  should  be  kept  shivering  at  an 
unfortunate  man's  door  like  me.  I 
am  not  quite  good  for  nothing,  sir, 
and  this  will  disgrace  me  in  my  own 
eyes." 

"  I  am  on  the  best  side  of  the  door ; 
don't  trouble  your  head  about  me." 

"I  shouldn't,  sir,  if  you  had  not 
al)Out  lue,  —  but  kindness  begets  kind- 
ness ;  go  to  your  comfortable  bed." 

]\[r.  Eden  iiesitated. 

"  You  will  make  me  more  unhappy 
than  I -am  if  you  stay  here  in  the 
cold." 

Now  at  the  bf^^inning  of  this  argu- 
ment Mr.  Eden  was  determined  not 
to  go;  but  on  reflection  he  made  up 
his  mind  to,  for  this  reason  :  "  This," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  is  an  act  of  un- 
common virtue  and  self  denial  in  this 
poor  fellow.  I  must  not  balk  it,  for 
it  will  be  good  for  his  soul ;  it  is  a 
step  0!i  the  right  road.  This  good, 
and,  I  might  say,  not)le  act  is  a  founda- 
tion stone  on  which  I  ought  to  try  and 
build  an  honest  man  and  a  Christian." 

"  Well,  then,  as  you  are  so  consider- 
ate I  will  go." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  before 
I  iio  ?  " 


can  ;  yes,  you  can  do  something,  — 
you  spoke  a  word  to  me  when  you 
came  ;  it  is  a  word  I  am  not  worthy 
of,  but  still  if  you  could  leave  me  that 
word  it  would  be  a  companion  for 
me." 

"  Brother  !  " 

"  Thank  you." 

When  he'  heard  Mr.  Eden's  steps 
grow  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  last 
inaudible,  Rohinson  groaned  ;  the 
darkness  turned  l)la(ker  and  the  soli- 
tude more  desolate  than  ever. 

Mr.  Eden  paced  the  corridors  in 
meditation.  "  It  is  never  too  late  to 
mend  ! "  he  said.  "  This  man  seemed 
an  unredeemable  brute  :  yet  his  heart 
was  to  be  touched  by  persevering 
kindness  ;  and,  once  touched,  how 
much  of  goodness  left  in  bis  fallen 
nature,  —  genuine  gratitude,  and  even 
the  embers  of  self-respect.  '  I  hate 
myself  for  my  conduct  in  the  cell ;  it 
would  disgrace  me  in  my  own  eyes  if 
I  let  you  shiver  at  my  door.'  Poor 
fellow,  my  heart  yearns  towards  him 
for  that.  'Go,  or  you  will  make  me 
more  unhappy.'  Why,  that  was  real 
delicacy.  I  must  not  let  him  suffer 
for  it.  In  an  hour  I  will  go  Inu-k  to 
liiin.  If  he  is  asleep,  well  and  good ; 
if  not,  there  I  stay  till  morning." 

He  went  to  his  room  and  worked  ; 
the  hour  soon  glided  by  to  him  ;  not 
so  to  the  poor  prisoner.  At  two  in 
the  morning  Mr.  Eden  came  soffly 
back  to  the  dark  cell  to  see  whether 
Robinson  was  asleep.  He  scratched 
the  door  with  a  key,  A  loud,  un- 
steadv  voice  cried  out,  "  What  is 
that  i  " 

"  It  is  I,  brother." 

"  Why  are  you  not  in  your  bed  1  " 

"  I  could  n't  sleep  for  anxiety. 
Come,  chat  with  me  till  you  feel 
sleep V.  How  did  you  color  those 
cards?" 

"  I  found  a  coal  and  a  bit  of  brick 
in  the  yard.  I  pounded  ihcni  and 
mi.xed  them  with  water,  and  laid  ihem 
on  with  a  brush  I  had  made  and  hid." 

"  Very  ingenious  !  Are  you  cold?" 

"  No." 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND." 


lOZ 


"  Because  your  voice  trembles." 

"  Does  it  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  " 

"  No  !  But  I  remember  you  used 
to  tremble  when  I  spoke  to  you  in  the 
cell.  Why  was  that  l  Have  your 
nerves  been  shaken  by  ill  usage,  my 
poor  fellow  ?  " 

"  O  no  !  it  is  not  that.'' 

"  Tell  me  then  !  " 

"  O  sir !  you  know  all  a  poor  fellow 
feels.  You  can  guess  what  made  me 
tremble,  and  makes  me  tremble  now, 
like  an  aspen  I  do." 

"No,  indeed  !  pray  tell  me!  Are 
we  not  friends  ?  " 

"  The  best  ever  I  had,  or  ever 
shall." 

"  Then  tell  me." 

"I'll  try;  but  it  is  a  long  story, 
and  the  door  is  so  thick." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  hear  you  better  now  ; 
I  have  got  used  to  your  voice." 

"  Well,  sir ;  but  I  've  no  Avords  to 
speak  to  you  as  I  ought.  Why  did  I 
use  to  tremble  when  you  used  to 
speak  kind  to  me  ?  Sir,  when  I  first 
came  here  I  hadn't  a  bad  heart.  I 
was  a  felon,  but  I  was  a  m;in.  They 
turned  me  to  a  brute  by  cruelty  and 
wrong.  You  came  too  late,  sir.  It 
wasn't  Tom  Robinson  you  found  in 
that  cell.  I  had  got  to  think  all  men 
devils.  They  poisoned  my  soul !  I 
hated  God  and  man  ! 

"  The  very  chaplain  before  you  said 
good  kind  words  in  church,  but  out 
of  it  he  was  Hawes's  tool !  Then 
you  came  and  spoke  good  kind  words. 
My  heart  ran  to  meet  them ;  then  it 
drew  back  all  shivering,  and  said,  this 
is  a  hypocrite  too !  I  was  a  fool  and 
a  villain  to  think  so  for  a  moment, 
and  perhaps  I  did  n't  at  bottom,  but  I 
was  turned  to  gall. 

"  O  sir  !  you  don't  know  what  it  is 
to  ]o<e  hope,  to  find  out  that,  do  what 
30U  will,  you  can't  be  right,  can't  es- 
cape abuse  and  hatred  and  torture 
Treat  a  man  like  a  dog  and  you  make 
him  one  ! 

"  But  you  came  :  your  voice,  your 
face,  your  eye,  were  all  pity  and  kind- 


ness. I  hoped,  but  I  was  afrud  to 
hope!  I  had  seen  but  two  things,  — 
butchers  and  hypocrites.  Then  1  had 
sworn  in  my  despair  never  to  speak 
again,  and  1  would  n't  speak  to  you. 
Fool !  —  How  kind  and  patient  you 
were.  Sir,  once  when  you  left  me 
you  sighed  as  you  closed  the  cell  door. 
I  came  after  you  to  beg  your  pardon, 
when  it  was  too  late ;  indeed,  I  did, 
upon  my  honor.  And  when  you 
would  rub  the  ointment  on  my  throat 
in  spite  of  my  ingratitude,  I  could 
have  worshipped  you  ;  but  my  })ride 
'held  me  back  like  an  iron  hand.  Why 
did  I  tremble  ?  that  was  tlie  Devil 
and  my  better  part  fighting  inside  me 
for  the  upper  hand.  And,  another 
thing,  I  did  not  dare  speak  to  you. 
I  felt  that  if  I  did  I  should  give  way 
altogether,  like  a  woman  or  a  child  ; 
I  feel  so  now.  For  oh  !  can't  you 
guess  what  it  must  be  to  a  poor  fel- 
low when  all  the  rest  are  savage  as 
wolves,  and  one  is  kind  as  a  woman  ? 
Oh  !  you  have  been  a  friend  to  me. 
You  don't  know  all  you  have  done ; 
you  have  saved  my  life.  When  you 
came  here  a  stocking  was  knotted 
round  my  throat ;  a  minute  later  the 
man  you  call  your  brother  —  God 
bless  you  —  would  have  been  no 
more.  There,  I  never  meant  you 
should  know  that,  and  now  it  has 
slipped  out.  My  benefactor  !  my  kind 
friend  !  my  angel !  for  you  are  an  angel 
and  not  a  man.  What  can  I  do  to  show 
you  what  I  feel  ?  What  can  I  say  ? 
There,  I  tremble  all  over  now  as  I  did 
then.  I'm  choking  for  words,  and 
the  cruel  thick  door  keeps  me  from 
you.  I  want  to  put  my  neck  under 
your  foot,  for  I  can't  speak.  All  I 
say  is  n't  worth  a  button.  Words  ! 
words  !  words  !  give  me  words  that 
mean  something.  They  sha'  n't  keep 
me  from  you,  they  sha'  n't !  they 
sha'  n't !  My  stul)born  heart  was  be- 
tween us  once,  now  there  is  only  a 
door.  Give  me  your  hand  !  give  me 
your  hand  before  my  heart  bursts." 

"  There!  there  !  " 

"  Hold  it  there  !  " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  " 


103 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"  IMy  lips  arc  licrc  close  opposite  it. 
I  am  kis,-,iiii,'  your  (k-ur  hand.  There  ! 
tliL're !  there !  I  bless  you !  I  love 
you !  I  adore  you !  I  am  kissing 
your  liand,  and  I  am  on  ray  knees 
itlcssing  you  and  kissin;;.  O  ray 
heart !  my  heart !  ray  heart  !  " 

There  was  a  lonj^  silence,  disturbed 
only  by  sobs  that  broke  upon  tlie 
ni;;!it  from  the  black  cell.  Mr.  Eden 
leined  apiinst  the  door  with  iiis  hand 
ill  the  same  place;  the  prisoner  kissed 
the  spot  from  time  to  lime. 

*'  Your  reverence  is  crying,  too  !  " 
Avas  the  lirst  woid  spoken,  very  gen- 
tly. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  don't  speak,  and  my  heart 
tells  me  you  are  shedding  a  tear  for 
me  ;  there  was  only  that  left  to  do  for 
rae." 

Then  there  was  another  silence, 
and  true  it  was  that  the  good  man 
and  the  bad  man  mingled  some 
tears  tlirough  the  massy  door.  These 
two  hearts  pierced  it,  and  went  to 
and  iro  througli  it,  and  melted  in 
s])ite  of  it,  and  defied  and  utterly  de- 
feated it. 

"  Did  you  speak,  dear  sir?  " 

"  No  !  not  for  the  world  !  Weep 
on,  my  poor  sinning,  sutf-ring  broth- 
er. Heaven  sends  you  this  blesse<l 
rain  ;  let  it  drop  quietly  on  your 
parched  soul,  refresh  yon,  and  shed 
l)eace  on  your  tr(nil)led  heart.  Drop, 
gentle  dew  from  heaven  upon  his 
spirit ;  prepare  the  dry  soul  for  the 
good  >eed  !  " 

And  so  the  bad  man  wept  abun- 
dantly ;  to  him  old  long-dried  sources 
of  tender  feeling  were  now  unlocked 
by  Christian  love  and  pity. 

The  good  man  shed  a  gentle  tear 
or  two  of  sympathy  ;  of  sorrow,  too, 
to  find  so  mu;h  goodness  had  been 
shut  up,  driven  in,  and  wellnigh 
qaenched  f  )rcver  in  the  poor  thief. 

To  both  these  holy  drops  were  as 
the  dew  of  Ikrmon  on  their  souls. 

0  lacrymaruiti  fons  tenero  sacros 
Ducf  ntium  ortus  fx  animo  -,  quaUT 
Ft'lix  in  iino  qui  scateiitein 
I'ectore  te  pia  Nympha  seusit. 


Robinson  was  t!ie  first  to  break  si- 
lence. 

"  (Jo  home,  sir,  now ;  you  have 
done  your  work,  you  have  saved 
me.  I  feel  at  peace.  I  coidd  sleep. 
You  need  not  feur  to  leave  me 
now." 

"  I  shall  sit  here  until  you  are 
asleep,  and  then  I  will  go.  Do  you 
hear  this  ?  "  and  he  scratched  the 
door  with  his  key. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  wlien  I  do  so  and  you  do 
not  taj)  in  reply,  I  shall  know  you  are 
asleep." 

Kobinson,  whose  heart  was  now 
so  calmed,  felt  liis  eyes  get  heavier 
and  heavier.  After  a  while  he  spoke 
to  Mr.  Eden,  but  received  no  reply. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  dozitig,"  thouLjht 
Robinson.     "  I  won't  disturb  hitn." 

Then  he  composed  himself,  lying 
close  to  the  door  to  be  near  his 
friend. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Eden  scratched 
the  door  with  his  key.  There  was  no 
ajiswer  ;  then  he  rose  softly  and 
went  to  his  own  room. 

Robinson  slept.  Slept  like  an  in- 
fant after  this  feverish  d:iy.  His  body 
lay  still  in  a  hole  dark  and  almost  as 
narrow  as  the  grave,  Imt  his  spirit 
hid  broken  prison.  Tired  nature's 
sweet  restorer  descended  like  a  dove 
upon  his  wet  eyelids,  and  fanned  him 
with  her  downy  wings,  ami  bedewed 
the  hot  heart  and  smarting  limbs 
with  her  soothing,  vivifying  I)alm. 

At  six  o'clock  Evans  went  and 
opened  Robinson's  cell  door.  He 
was  on  the  ground  sleeping,  with 
a  placid  smile  on  his  face.  Evans 
looked  down  at  him  with  a  puzzled 
air.  Whilst  contemplating  him,  he 
was  joined  l)y  Fry. 

"  Ugh  !  "  grunted  that  worthy, 
"  seems  to  agree  with  him."  And  he 
went  ort'and  toKl  Hawes. 

Directly  af.er  chapl,  wliich  he  was 
not  allowed  to  at;end,  came  an  order 
to  take  Knbiiison  out  of  the  dark  cell 
and  ])ut  him  on  the  crank. 

The  diseiplinarian,  defeated  in  his 
attempt  on   Robiasou,   was   compca- 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


109 


gated  by  a  rare  stroke  of  jjood  fortune, 
—  a  case  of  real  refractoriness  ;  even 
this  w;is  not  perfect,  but  it  answered 
every  purpose. 

In  one  of  the  labor-cells  they  found 
a  prisoner  seated  with  the  utmost 
coolness  across  the  handle  of  his 
crank.  He  welcomed  his  visitants 
with  a  smile,  and  volunteered  a  piece 
of  information, —  "  It  is  all  rig'ht." 

Now  it  could  n't  be  all  right,  for 
it  was  iinpossil)le  he  could  have  done 
his  work  in  the  time.  Hawes  looked 
at  the  lace  of  the  crank  to  see  how 
much  had  been  done,  and  lo  !  the 
face  was  broken  and  the  index  had 
disappeared.  As  Mr.  Hawes  exam- 
ined the  face  of  the  crank,  the  prison- 
er leered  at  him  with  a  mighty  silly 
cunning. 

This  personage's  name  was  Carter; 
it  may  be  as  well  to  explain  him.  Go 
into  any  large  English  jail  on  any  day 
in  any  year  you  like,  you  shall  tind 
there  two  or  three  prisoners  who  have 
no  business  to  be  in  such  a  place  at 
all,  —  half  -  wittcd,  half  -  responsil)le 
creatures,  misseni  to  jail  by  shallow 
judires  contentedly  executing  those 
shallow  laws  they  ought  to  modify 
and  stigmatize  until  civilization  shall 
come  and  correct  them. 

These  imbeciles,  if  the  nation  itself 
was  not  both  half-  witted  and  a 
thoughtless,  ignorant  dunce  in  all 
matters  relating  to  such  a  trifle 
(Heaven  forgive  us!)  as  its  prisons, 
would  betaken  to  the  liirht,  not  plunged 
into  darkness  ;  would  not  be  shut  up 
alone  with  their  no-minds  to  accumu- 
late the  stupidity  that  has  undone 
them,  but  forced  into  collision  with 
i)ettcr  understanilings  ;  would  not  be 
closeted  in  a  jail,  but  in  a  mild  asylum 
witli  a  school  attached. 

The  offences  of  these  creatures  is 
seldom  theft,  hardly  ever  violence. 
This  idiot  Wiis  sentenced  to  two  years' 
separate  confinement  for  being  the 
handle  with  which  two  knaves  had 
passed  base  coin.  The  same  day  the 
same  tribunal  sentenced  a  scoundrel 
who  was  not  an  idiot,  and  had  l)eaten 
and  kicked  his  wife  to  the  ed<ie  of  the 


grave,  —  to  fourteen  years'  imprison- 
ment ?  no,  —  to  four  months'. 

Mr.  Carter  had  observed  that  Fry 
looked  at  a  long  iron  needle  on  the 
face  of  the  crank,  and  that  when  he 
had  been  lazy  somehow  this  needle 
pointed  out  the  fact  to  Fry.  He 
could  not  understand  it,  but  then  the 
world  was  biimful  of  things  he  could 
not  understand  one  bit.  It  was  no  use 
standing  idle  till  he  could  comprehend 
rerum  naturam,  —  bother  it.  lu 
short,  Mr.  Carter  did  what  is  a  dan- 
gerous thing  for  people  in  his  condi- 
tion to  do,  he  cogitated,  and  the  result 
of  this  unfamiliar  process  was  that  he 
broke  the  glass  of  the  crank  face,  took 
out  the  index,  sliied  the  pieces  of 
glass  carefully  over  the  wall,  secreted 
the  needle,  took  about  ten  turns  of  the 
crank,  and  then  left  off  and  sat  down 
exulting  secretly. 

When  they  came  as  usual  and 
went  to  consult  the  accusing  needle, 
he  chuckled  and  leered  with  foolish 
cunning.  But  his  chuckle  died  away 
into  a  most  doleful  quaver  when  he 
found  himself  surrounded,  jacketed, 
strapped,  and  collared.  He  struggled 
furiously  at  first,  like  some  wild  ani- 
mal in  a  net ;  and  when  resistance 
was  hopeless  the  poor  half-witted 
creature  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  ut- 
tered loud  wild-beast  cries  of  pain 
and  terror  that  ran  through  the  vast 
prison. 

These  horrible  cries  brought  all  the 
warders  to  the  spot,  and  Mr.  Eden. 
There  he  found  Carter  howlmg,  and 
Hawes  in  front  of  him  cursing  and 
threatening  him  with  destruction  if 
he  did  not  hold  his  noise. 

He  might  as  well  have  suspended  a 
dog  from  a  branch  by  the  lund  leg, 
ann  told  him  he  must  n't  howl. 

This  sight  drove  a  knife  through 
Mr.  Eden's  heart.  He  stood  anion^st 
them  white  as  a  sheet.  He  could 
not  speak ;  but  his  f)ale  face  was  a 
silent  protest  against  this  enormity. 
His  look  of  horror  and  righteous  in- 
dignation chilled  and  made  uneasy 
the  inquisitors,  all  but  Hawes. 


110 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  TToliI  your  noise,  yp  howlini:^  bnite, 
or  I 'II ; — "and  lie  clappL-d  his  hand 
belore  Carter's  mouth. 

Carter  seizA-d  his  thumb  with  liis 
teeth,  and  hit  it  to  the  bone.  Hawes 
yelled  with  ])ain,  and  strove  furiously 
to  };et  his  hand  away,  but  Carter  held 
it  like  a  ti<;er.  Ilawes  capered  with 
agony,  and  yelled  again.  The  first 
to  come  to  his  relief  was  Mr.  Eden. 
He  was  at  the  biped's  side  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  pinched  his  nose.  Now,  as 
his  lungs  were  pulling  like  a  black- 
smith's bellows,  his  mouth  flew  open 
the  moment  the  other  breathing-hole 
was  stopped,  and  Hawes  got  his  bleed- 
ing hand  away. 

He  held  it  with  the  other  and  shook 
it,  and  moaned  dismally  like  a  great 
girl ;  but  suddenly  looking  up  he  saw 
a  half-grin  upon  the  faces  of  his  myr- 
midons. 

For  the  contrast  of  a  man  telling 
another  who  was  in  pain  not  to  make 
a  row,  and  the  next  moment  making 
an  abominable  row  himself  for  no  bet- 
ter reason,  was  funny. 

For  all  this  occmTed  ten  times 
quicker  in  action  than  in  relation. 

Mr.  Hawes's  conversion  to  noise 
came  rapidly  in  a  sin<,le  sentence  af- 
ter this  fashion  :  — 

" you !  hold  your  infernal  noise 

Oh !  Augh  !  Ah  !  EE  !  EE  !  Aah  ! 
Oh  !  Oh  !  EE  !  EE  !  00 !  00 !  00 ! 
OO!  00!  OO!" 

So  Fry  and  Hodges  and  Evans  and 
Davis  grinned. 

For  all  these  men  had  learned  from 
Hawes  to  laugh  at  pain  (another's). 
One  man  alone  did  not  even  smile. 
He  was  an  observer,  and  did  not  ex- 
pect any  one  to  be  great  at  bearing 
pain  who  was  rash  in  inflicting  it; 
moreover  he  suffered  with  all  who 
suffer.  He  was  sorry  for  the  pilloried 
bi)Kd,  and  sorry  for  the  bitten   brute. 

lie  then  gave  them  another  le><son. 
"  All  you  want  the  poor  thiui;  to  do  is 
to  suffer  in  silence.  Withdraw  twen- 
ty yaiilsfri)ni  him."  He  set  the  exam- 
|i|i'  l>v  retreating-  :  the  others,  Ilawes 
i  I  liKJ.-d.  Iiiiiir  off  their  guard,  obeyed 
nicclu..iea..v  ihv!  siiojrior  s.jirit. 


Carter's  cries  died  away  into  a 
whimpering  moan.  The  turnkeys 
looked  at  one  another,  and  with  a 
sort  of  commencement  of  respect  at 
Mr.  Eden. 

"  Parson  knows  more  than  we  do." 

Hawes  interrupted  this  savagely. 

"  Ye  fools  !  could  n't  you  sec  it  was 
the  sight  of  your  ugly  faces  made  him 
roar,  not  the  jacket  ?  Keep  him 
there  till  further  orders  " ;  and  he  went 
ofl'  to  plaster  his  wounded  hand. 

Mr.  Eden  sat  down  and  covered  his 
face.  He  was  as  miserable  as  this  vile 
world  can  make  a  man  who  lives  for 
a  better.  The  good  work  he  was  up- 
on was  so  difficult  in  itself,  and  those 
who  ought  to  have  helped  fought 
against  him. 

When  with  intelligence,  pain,  and 
labor  he  had  built  up  a  little  good, 
Hawes  was  sure  to  come  and  knock  it 
down  again  ;  and  this  was  tlie  way  to 
break  his  heart. 

He  had  been  taking  such  pains  with 
this  poor  biped  ;  he  had  iilayed  round 
his  feeble  understanding  to  find  by 
what  door  a  little  wisdom  and  good- 
ness could  be  made  to  enter  him.  At 
last  lie  had  found  that  pictures  pleased 
him  and  excited  him,  and  awakened 
all  the  intelligence  he  had. 

Mr.  Eden  had  a  vast  collection  of 
engravings  and  photogra|)hs.  His 
plan  with  Carter  was  to  show  him 
some  engraving  presenting  a  fact  or 
anecdote.  First  he  would  put  under 
his  eyes  ^  cruel  or  unjust  action.  He 
would  point  out  the  signs  of  suffering 
in  one  of  the  figures.  Carter  would 
understand  thi>;,  because  he  saw  it. 
Then  Mr.  Eden  would  ex(ite  his 
sympathy.  "  Poor  so  and  so !  "  would 
Mr.  Eden  say  in  a  pitying  voice. 
"  Poor  so  and  so  !  "  would  biped 
Carter  echo.  After  several  easy 
lessons  he  would  find  him  a  picture 
of  some  more  moderate  injustice,  and 
so  raise  the  shadow  of  a  difficulty,  and 
draw  a  little  upon  Carter's  understand- 
ing as  well  as  sympathy.  Then  would 
come  j)ictures  of  charity,  of  benevo- 
lence, and  oiher  good  actions.  These, 
and  their  effects  upon  the  several  iig- 


*'1T  IS  XEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


Ill 


nrcs,  Carter  -was  invited  to  admire, 
and  so  on  lo  a  score  of  topics.  The 
first  thing  Avas  to  make  Carter  think, 
and  talk,  which  he  did  in  the  happy- 
go-lackj  way  of  his  chiss,  uttenni^ 
nine  miijhty  simple  remarks,  and  then 
a  bit  of  superlative  wisdom,  or  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  it.  And 
when  he  had  shot  his  random  bolts, 
Mr.  Eden  would  begin,  and  treat  each 
picture  as  a  text,  and  utter  much  wis- 
dom on  it  in  simple  words. 

He  found  Carter's  mind  in  a  state 
of  actual  lethargy.  He  got  it  out  of 
that ;  he  created  an  excitement  and 
kept  it  up.  He  got  at  his  little  bit  of 
mind  through  his  senses.  Honor  to 
all  the  great  arts !  The  limit  to  their 
beauty  and  their  usefulness  has  never 
yet  been  found  and  never  will.  Paint- 
ing was  the  golden  key  this  thinker 
held  to  the  Brumah  lock  of  an  imbe- 
cile's understanding,  — the  ponderous 
wards  were  beginning  to  revolve  — 
when  a  blockhead  came  and  did  his 
best  to  hamper  tlie  lock. 

In  English,  Eden  was  gradually 
making  the  biped  a  man  ;  comes 
Hiv.es  and  turns  him  to  a  brute. 
The  whimpering  moans  of  Carter 
were  thoroughly  animal,  and  the  poor 
biped's  degradation  as  well  as  his  suf- 
fering made  Mr.  Eden  wretched. 

To-day  for  the  first  time  the  chap- 
lain saw  a  prisoner  crucified  without 
suffering  that  peculiar  physical  weak- 
ness wliich  I  have  more  than  once 
noticed.  Poor  soul,  he  .was  so 
ple;i-;ed  at  this  that  he  thanked  Heav- 
en for  curing  him  of  that  contempti- 
ble infirmity,  so  he  called  it.  But  he 
had  to  pay  for  this  victory  :  he  never 
felt  so  sick  at  heart  as  now.  He 
turned  for  relief  to  the  duties  he  had 
in  his  zeal  added  to  a  chaplain's  ac- 
knowledged routine  :  he  visited  his 
rooms  and  all  his  rational  workpeo- 
ple. 

The  sight  of  all  the  good  he  was 
doing  by  teaching  the  sweets  of  anti- 
theft  was  always  a  cordial  to  him. 

Almost  the  fast  cell  he  visited  was 
Thomas  Robinson's.  The  man  had 
been  fretting  and  woixying  himself  to 


know  why  he  did  not  come  before. 
As  soon  as  the  door  was  opened  lie 
took  an  eager  step  to  meet  him,  then 
stopped  irresoluttdy,  and  blushed  and 
beamed  with  pleasure  mixed  with  a 
certain  confusion.  He  looked  vol- 
umes, but  waited,  out  of  respect,  for 
his  reverence  to  address  him. 

Mr.  Eden  held  out  his  hand  to  hira 
with  a  frank  manner  and  kind  smile. 
At  this  Robinson  tried  to  speak  l)ut 
could  only  stammer,  somLthing 
seemed  to  rise  in  his  throat  and  block 
up  the  exit  of  words. 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "  no  more 
of  that ;  be  composed,  and  I  will  &it 
down,  for  I  am  tired." 

Robinson  brought  him  his  stool, 
and  Mr.  Eden  sat  down. 

They  conversed,  and,  after  some 
kind  inquiries,  Mr.  Eden  came  to  the 
grand  purport  of  this  visit,  which,  to 
the  surprise  and  annoyance  of  Robin- 
son, was  to  reprol)ate  severely  the 
curses  and  blasphemies  he  had  uttered 
as  they  were  dragging  him  to  the  dark 
cell.  And  so  threatening  and  severe 
was  Mr.  Eden,  that  at  last  poor  Rob- 
inson whined  out  :  — 

"  Sir,  you  will  make  me  wish  I  was 
in  the  dark  cell  a,^ain,  for  then  you  took 
my  part ;  now  you  are  against  me." 

"  There  is  a  time  for  everything 
under  the  sun.  Wlien  you  were  i.i 
the  dark  cell,  consolation  and  indul- 
gence were  the  best  things  for  your 
soul,  and  I  gave  them  you  as  well  as 
I  could.  You  are  not  in  tlie  dark  cell 
now,  and,  out  of  the  same  love  for  you, 
I  tell  you  that  if  God  took  you  this 
night,  the  curses  you  uttered  yesterday 
would  destroy  you  to  all  eternity." 

"  I  hope  not,  your  reverence  !  " 

"  Away  with  delusive  hopes,  they 
war  against  the  soul.  I  tell  you  tho-e 
curses  that  came  from  a  tonu'uc  set  on 
tire  of  Hell  have  placed  you  under 
the  ban  of  Heaven.  Are  you  not  this 
Ilawes's  brother,  his  brother  every 
way,  —  two  unforgiven  sinners  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said'  Robinson,  truck- 
ling, "  of  course  I  know  I  am  a  great 
sinner,  a  desperate  sinner,  not  worthy 
to  be  in  your  reverence's  company. 


112 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


But  I  hope,"  he  added,  with  sudilen 
Hiiicerity  :iii(i  spirit,  "  vou  don't  think 
1  aiu  such  an  out-and-out  scoundrel 
as  that  Iliwes." 

*'  Mr.  Hawcs  would  tell  me  you  are 
the  scoundrel,  and  he  a  zealous  ser- 
vant of  morality  and  order  ;  but  these 
comparisons  arc  out  of  [dace.  I  am 
now  defeirin^  not  to  the  world's  juilf^- 
ment,  hut  to  a  higher,  in  whose  eye 
Mr.  H:twcs  and  you  stand  on  a  level, 
—  two  unfoririven  sinners;  if  not  for- 
given, you  will  both  perish  everlast- 
ingly, and,  to  he  fororiven,  you  must 
forgive.  God  is  very  forgiving,  —  he 
forgives  the  best  of  us  a  thou-and 
vile  otfenccs.  But  he  never  forgives 
unconditionally.  Ills  terms  are  our 
repentance  and  our  forgiveness  of 
those  who  otfend  us  one  millionth 
part  as  deeply  as  we  offend  him. 
Therefore,  in  praying  against  Hawes, 
you  have  prayed  against  yourself. 
Give  me  your  slate.  No  ;  take  it 
yourself.     Write  —  " 

Robinson  took  his  pencil  with  alac- 
rity. He  wrote  a  beautiful  hand,  and 
■wanted  to  sliow  off  this  accomplish- 
ment to  his  reverence. 

"  '  Forgive  us  our  sins  as  we  forgive 
them  that  trespass  against  us.'" 

•'  It  is  down,  sir." 

"  Now  particularize." 

"  Parti  ulariz',  your  reverence  ?  " 

"  Write  un<ler '  us,'  '  our,'  and  '  we,' 
*  me,'  '  my,'  and  '  I,'  respectively." 

"  All  right,  sir." 

"  Now,  under  '  them  '  write  '  Mr. 
Hawes  '  " 

"  Ugh ;  yes,  your  reverence,  *  Mr. 
Hawes  ' " 

*'  And  under  the  last  four  words 
write,  '  his  cruelty  to  me.'  " 

This  was  wormwood  to  Mr.  Robin- 
Bon.     "  '  His  cruelty  to  me  !  '  " 

"  Now  read  your  work  out." 

"*  Forgive  me  my  sins  as  I  forgive 
Mr.  Hawes  his  cruelty  to  mc.'  " 

"  Now  ponder  over  those  words. 
Keep  them  befon'  your  eye  here,  and 
try  at  least  and  l>ow  your  stubl)orn 
heart  to  them  Fall  on  them  and  be 
broken,  or  they  will  fall  on  you  and 
grind  you  to  powder."     He  concluded 


in  a  terrible  tone  ;  then,  seeing  Rob- 
inson abashed,  more  from  a  notion  he 
was  in  a  ra^'c  with  him  than  from  any 
deeper  sentiment,  he  bade  him  fare- 
well, kindly  as  ever. 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  "  I  have  given 
you  a  hard  task.  We  can  all  gabble 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  but  how  few  have 
ever  prayed  it !  But  at  least  try,  my 
poor  soul,  and  I  will  set  you  an  ex- 
ample. I  will  pray  for  my  brotlier 
Rol)inson,  and  nty  brother  Hawes, 
and  I  shall  pray  for  them  all  the  more 
warmly  that  at  present  one  is  a  blas- 
pheming thief,  and  the  other  a  pitiless 
blockhead." 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  Mr. 
Eden  preached  two  sermons  that  many 
will  remember  all  their  lives.  The 
Hrst  was  against  theft  and  all  the 
shades  of  dishonesty.  I  give  a  few  of 
his  topics  :  the  dry  bones  he  covered 
with  flesh  and  blood  and  beauty.  'J'he 
tendency  of  theft  was  to  destroy  all 
moral  and  social  good.  For,  were  it 
once  to  prevail  so  far  as  to  make 
])roperty  insecure,  industry  would  lose 
heart,  enterprise  and  frugality  be 
crushed,  and,  at  last,  the  honest  turn 
thieves  in  self-defence.  Nearly  every 
act  of  theft  had  a  baneful  influence  on 
the  person  robbed. 

Here  he  quoted  by  name  instances 
of  industrious,  frugal  persons,  whose 
savings  having  been  stolen,  they  had 
lost  courage  and  <:ood  habits  of  years' 
standing,  and  had  ended  ill.  Then 
he  gave  them  a  simile.  These  great 
crimes  are  like  great  trunk  railways. 
They  create  many  smaller  ones  :  some 
flow  into  them  :  some  out  of  tlietn. 
Drunkenness  generi^Ily  precedes  an 
art  of  theft ;  drunkenne-s  always  fol- 
lows it :  lies  flow  from  it  in  streams, 
and  perjury  rushes  to  its  defence. 

It  bree<is,  too,  other  vices  that  pun- 
ish it,  but  never  cure  it,  —  prodigality 
and  general  loose  living.  The  thief 
is  never  the  richer  by  this  vile  act 
which  impoverishes  his  victim  ;  ibr 
the  moiu-y  obtained  by  this  crime  is 
wasted  in  others.  The  f»)lly  of  theft ; 
its  ill  economy.  What  high  qualities 
are  laid  out  to  their  ^rreatcst  di^advau- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


113 


tage  by  the  iliicf,  —  acutencss,  watch- 
fulness, sagacity,  determination,  tact. 
These  virtues,  coupled  witli  integrity, 
cnrirh  thousands  every  year.  How 
many  tlii-ves  do  they  enrich  ?  How 
many  thieves  are  a  shiliini^  a  year  the 
hetter  for  the  hundreds  of  pounds  that 
come  dishonestly  into  their  hands? 

"In  Jail   (Mr.  Lepei's)   there 

is  now  a  famdy  that  have  stolen,  first 
and  hist,  property  worth  eighteen 
thousand  pounds.  The  entire  pos- 
sessions of  this  family  are  now  two 
pair  of  shoes.  The  clothes  they  stand 
in  belong  to  government :  their  own 
h;id  to  be  burned,  so  foul  were  they. 
Eighteen  thousand  pounds  had  they 
stolen,  —  to  be  beggars;  and  this  is 
the  rule,  not  the  exception,  as  you  all 
know.  Why  is  this  your  fate  and 
your  end  ?  Because  a  mightier  pow- 
er than  man's  has  determined  that 
thieving  shall  not  thrive.  The  curse 
of  God  is  upon  theft !  " 

Then  came  life-like  pictures  of  the 
honest  man  and  the  thief.  The  one 
with  an  eye  that  faced  you,  with  a 
conscious  dignity,  and  often  a  cheerful 
countenance  ;  the  other  with  a  shrink- 
ing eye,  a  conscious  meanness,  and 
never'with  a  smile  from  the  heart; 
sordid,  sly,  and  unhappy, — for  theft 
is  misery.  No  wonder  this  crime  de- 
grades a  man  when  it  degrades  the 
very  animals.  Look  at  a  dog  who 
has  stolen.  Before  this,  when  he 
met  his  master  or  any  human  friend, 
he  used  to  run  up  to  <;reet  them  with 
wa.:ging  tail  and  sparkling  eye.  Now 
sec  him :  at  sight  of  any  man,  he 
crawls  meanly  away,  with  cowering 
tignre  and  eye  askant,  the  living  im- 
aue  of  the  filthy  sin  he  has  committed. 
He  feels  he  has  no  longer  a  right  to 
greet  a  man,  for  he  is  a  thief. 

And  here  the  preacher  gathered 
images,  facts,  and  satire,  and  hurled 
a  crushing  hailstorm  of  scorn  upon 
the  sordid  sin.  Then  he  attacked  the 
l)resent  situation  (his  invariable  cus- 
tom ) . 

"  Not  all  the  inmates  of  a  jail  were 
equally  guilty  on  their  arrival  there. 
A  large  proportion  of  felons  were  or- 


phans or  illegitimate  children  ;  oth- 
ers, still  more  unfortunate,  were  the 
children  of  criminals  who  had  taught 
them  crime  from  their  cradles. 
Great  excuses  were  to  be  mide  lor 
the  general  mass  of  crimin<ils  ;  eX' 
cuses  that  the  ignorant,  shallow 
world  could  not  be  expected  to  make; 
but  the  balance  of  the  Sanctuary  is 
not  like  the  world's  clumsy  balance  ; 
it  weighs  all  men  to  a  hair.  Excuses 
will  be  made  for  many  of  you  in 
Heaven  up  to  a  certain  point.  And 
what  is  that  point  1  The  day  of  your 
entrance  into  prison.  But  now  plead 
no  more  the  ill  example  of  parents 
and  friends,  for  here  you  are  cut  off 
from  it. 

"Plead  no  more  that  you  cannot 
read,  for  here  you  have  been  taught 
to  read. 

'■  Plead  no  more  the  dreadful  power 
of  vicious  habits,  that  began  when 
you  were  unguarded ;  for  those  hab- 
its have  now  been  cut  away  from  you 
by  force,  and  better  habits  substituted. 

"  Plead  no  more  ignorance  of 
God's  Word,  for  here  day  by  day  it  is 
poured  into  your  ears. 

"  Your  situation  has  other  less 
obvious  advantages.  Here  you  are 
little  exposed  to  the  soul's  most  dan- 
gerous enemy,  —  self-deception.  The 
world  destroys  thousands  of  sinners 
by  flattery.  Half  the  great  sinners 
upon  earth  are  what  is  called  respec- 
table. The  world  tells  them  they  are 
good,  —  they  believe  it,  and  so  die 
as  they  have  lived,  and  are  lost  eter- 
nally. The  world,  intending  to  be 
more  unkind  to  you,  is  far  more  kind  ; 
it  tells  i/ou  the  truth, — that  you  are 
desperate  sinners.  Here  then,  where 
everything  opens  your  eyes,  oh !  tight 
not  against  yourselves.  Repent,  or 
fearful  will  be  the  fresh  guilt  heaped 
upon  your  heads  !  Even  these  words 
of  mine  must  do  you  good  or  do  you 
harm.  1  tremble  whon  I  tell  you 
so.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  think." 
The  preacher  paused.  "  You  know 
that  I  love  you,  —  that  I  would  n'lVQ 
my  life  to  save  one  soul  of  all  those 
I  see  before  me  now  !     Have  pity  on 


114 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


me  and  on  yourselves  !  Let  mc  not 
be  so  unfortunate  as  to  add  to  your 
^uilt, —  I,  whose  heart  yearns  to  do 
you  i^ood  !  O  my  pour  Ijrotliers  and 
sisters,  d<^  not  pity  yourselves  so 
much  less  than  1  pity  you, — do  not 
love  yourselves  so  nmch  less  than  1 
love  you  !  Why  will  ye  die  1  Re- 
pent, and  be  forgiven  ! 

"  8ome  of  you  profess  attachment 
to  me,  —  some  talk  of  gratitude. 
Thci-e  are  some  of  my  poor  brothers 
and  sisters  iu  this  jail  that  say  to  me, 
*  O,  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for 
you,  sir ! '  Perhaps  you  have  no- 
ticed that  I  have  never  answered 
these  professions.  Well,  I  will  an- 
swer them  now  once  for  all." 

While  the  preacher  paused,  there 
was  a  movement  observed  amongst 
the  prisoners. 

"  Would  you  make  me  very,  very 
sad  ?  Remaiu  impenitent !  Would 
you  make  me  happy  ?  Repent,  and 
turn  to  God  !  Kot  to-morrow,  or 
next  day,  but  on  your  knees  in  your 
own  cells  the  moment  you  go  hence. 
You  don't  know,  you  can't  dream, 
what  happiness  you  will  confer  on 
me  if  you  do  this  !  " 

Then  suddenly  opening  his  arms, 
with  wonderful  grace  and  warmtti  and 
energy  he  cried  :  "  My  poor  wandering 
sheep*  come, — come  to  the  heavenly 
fold !  Let  me  gather  you  as  a  hen 
gathers  her  chickens  under  her  wing. 
You  are  my  anxiety,  my  terror,  — be 
my  joy,  my  consolation  here,  and 
hereafter  the  brightest  jewels  in  my 
lieavenly  crown." 

In  this  strain  he  soared  higher  than 
my  poor  earth-clogged  wings  can  fol- 
low him.  lie  had  lashed  sin  severely, 
so  he  had  earned  a  right  to  show  his 
love  for  the  sinner.  Gracious  words 
of  entreaty  and  encouragement  gushed 
from  him  in  a  crystal  stream  with 
looks  and  tones  of  more  than  mortal 
charity.  Men  miizht  well  doubt  was 
this  a  man,  or  was  it  Christianity 
sj)eaking  ?  Christianity,  l>orn  in  a 
stable,  was  she  there,  illuminating  a 
jail  ?  For  now  for  a  moment  or  two 
the  sacred  orator  was  more  than  mor- 


tal :  so  high  al)Ove  earth  wap  his 
theme,  so  great  his  swelling  words. 
He  rose,  he  dilated  to  heroic  size,  he 
fhuned  with  sacred  tire  :  his  fiie 
shone  like  an  angei's,  and  no  silver 
trumpet  or  deep-toned  organ  could 
compare  with  his  thundering,  j>ealing, 
melting  voice,  that  poured  the  soul  of 
love  and  charity  and  heaven  upon 
friend  and  foe :  then  seemed  it  as 
though  a  sudden  blaze  of  mu>ie  and 
light  broke  into  that  dark  abode  :  each 
sinful  form  stretched  wildly  forth  to 
meet  them,  each  ear  hung  aching  on 
them,  each  glistening  eye  lived  on 
them,  and  every  heart  panted  and  quiv- 
ered as  this  great  Christian  swept  his 
immortal  harp,  —  amongst  thieves  and 
homicides  and  oppressors,  —  iu  that 
sad  house  of  God. 

"  VThsLt  did  you  think  of  the  sermon, 
Fry  ? " 

Fry.  "  Liked  the  first  part,  sir,  where 
he  walked  into  thieving.  Don't  like 
his  telling'  em  he  loves  'em.  'T  is  n't 
to  be  supposed  a  gentleman  could 
really  love  such  rubbish  as  that. 
Sounds  like  palaver." 

llawes.  "  Now  I  liked  it  all,  though 
it  spoiled  my  nap." 

Fry.  "  Well,  sir,  it  is  very  good  of 
you  to  like  it,  for  I  don't  think  you 
like  the  man." 

Hawes.  "  The  man  is  all  very  well 
in  his  place.  He  ought  to  be  bottled 
up  in  one  of  the  dark  cells  all  the 
week,  and  then  brou<xht  up  and  un- 
corked in  chapel  o'  Sundays.  It  is  as 
good  as  a  romance  is  a  sermon  of  his." 

Fry.  "  That  it  is,  sir.  Comes  next 
after  the  Newgate  Calendar,  don't  it, 
now  ?  But  there  's  one  thing  about  all 
his  sermons  1  can't  get  over." 

Unices.     "  And  what  is  tluit  ?  " 

Fry.     "  Preaches  at  'em  so." 

Hawes.  ''  Why,  ye  fool,  that  is  the 
beauty  of  him.  How  is  he  to  hit  'em, 
if  he  does  n't  hit  at  'em  (  " 

Fry.     "  Mr.  Jones  u-^e  n't." 

Ihiwe.s.  '•  O,  Jones  !  He  shot  his  ar- 
row up  in  the  air,  and  let  it  fall  wher- 
ever the  wind  chose  to  blow  it,  and 
then,  if  it  came  down  ou  the  wrong 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


115 


man *s  head,  he  'd  say,  'Never  mind,  my 
b  jy,  accident !  —  pure  accident ! '  No  ! 
give  me  a  chap  that  hits  out  straight 
from  the  slioulder.  Can'tyou  see  tliis 
is  worth  a  hundred  Joneses  beating 
about  the  bush  and  droning  us  all 
asleep  ?  " 

Fry.  "  So  he  is,  sir,  —  so  he  is.  But 
then  I  think  he  did  n't  ought  to  be 
quite  so  personal.  Fancy  his  request- 
ing such  a  lot  as  ours  to  repent  their 
sins  and  go  to  heaven  just  to  oblige 
him.  There  's  a  inducement !  I  call 
that  hiniper  dig  from  the  pulpit." 

"  Wh^^t  d'  ye  call  it  1  "  growled 
Ilawes,  snappishly. 

"  Himper  dig  !  "  replied  Fry,  stout- 
ly- 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Eden  preached 
against  cruelty. 

"  No  crime  is  so  thoroughly  without 
excuse  as  this.  Other  crimes  have 
sometimes  an  adequate  temptation, 
this  never.  The  path  to  other  crimes 
is  down  hill ;  to  cruelty  is  up  hill. 
In  the  very  act.  Nature,  who  is  on  the 
side  of  some  crimes,  cries  out  within 
us  against  this  monstrous  sin.  The 
blood  of  our  victim  flowing  from  our 
blows,  its  groans  and  sighs  and  pal- 
lor, stay  the  uplifted  arm  and  appeal 
to  the  furious  heart.  Wonderful  they 
should  ever  appeal  in  vain.  Cruelty 
is  not  one  of  our  pleasant  vices,  and 
the  opposite  virtues  are  a  garden  of 
delights  :  '  mercy  is  twice  blessed,  it 
blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that 
takes.'  God  has  written  his  abhor- 
rence of  this  monstrous  sin  in  letters 
of  fire  and  blood  on  every  page  of  his- 
tory." 

Here  he  ransacked  history,  and  gave 
them  some  thirty  remarkable  instances 
of  human  cruelty,  and  of  its  being 
punished  in  kind  so  strangely,  and 
with  such  an  exactness  of  retribution, 
that  the  finger  of  God  seemed  visible 
writing  on  the  world,  "  God  hates 
'cruelty." 

At  the  end  of  his  examples  he  in- 
stanced two  that  happened  under  his 
own  eye,  —  a  favorite  custom  of  this 
preacher. 

''  A  man  was  tried  in  London  for 


cruelty  to  animals  ;  he  was  acquitted 
by  a  iegal  flaw,  t'lough  the  evi<ienee 
was  clear  against  aim.  This  man  re- 
turned homewards  triumphant.  The 
train  in  which  he  sat  was  drawn  up 
by  the  side  of  a  station.  An  express- 
train  passed  on  the  upline  at  full 
speed.  At  the  moment  of  passing  the 
fly-wheel  of  the  engine  broke  ;  a  large 
fragment  was  driven  into  the  air,  and 
fell  upon  the  stationary  train  :  it  burst 
through  one  of  the  carriages,  and 
killed  a  man  upon  the  spot.  That 
man  was  seated  between  two  other 
men,  neither  of  whom  received  the 
slightest  injury.  The  man  so  singled 
out  was  the  cruel  man  who  had  evad- 
ed man's  justice,  but  could  not  escape 
His  hand  who  created  the  beasts  as 
well  as  man,  and  who  abhors  all  men 
who  are  cruel  to  any  creature  he  has 
formed. 

"  A  man  and  his  wife  conspired  to 
rob  and  murder  their  friend  and  con- 
stant guest.  Determined  to  escape 
detection,  they  coldly  prepared  for  the 
deed  of  blood.  Long  before  the  mur- 
der they  dug  a  hole  in  the  passage 
leading  from  tlieir  parlor  to  their  din- 
ing-room, and  this  hole  was  to  receive 
the  corpse  of  the  man  with  whom 
meantime  these  heartless  wretches 
ate  bread  day  after  day,  and  drank  his 
health  at  their  own  board.  Several 
times  the  unfortunate  man  walked 
with  his  host  and  hostess  over  this 
concealed  hole,  his  destined  tomb,  be- 
fore the  time  came  to  sacrifice  him. 
At  last  they  murdered  him,  and  bur- 
ied him  in  the  grave  they  had  prepared 
for  him.  The  deed  done,  spite  of  all 
their  precaution,  fear  fell  on  them  and 
hatred,  and  they  fled  from  the  house 
where  the  corpse  was  and  from  each 
other,  one  to  the  north,  one  to  the 
south.  Fled  they  ever  so  fast,  or  so 
far  apart,  justice  followed  to  the  north, 
justice  followed  to  the  south,  and 
dragged  the  miscreants  together  again 
and  flung  them  into  one  prison.  They 
were  convicted  and  condcmnetl  to 
death.  There  came  a  fatal  morning 
to  this  guilty  pair,  when  the  sun  rose 
upon  them  and  found  them  fuU  of 


116 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


health  and  strcnjrth,  yet  in  one  short 
hour  thi'V  mu'^t  l)e  dead.  Tliey  were 
taken  into  the  prison  chapel  acc(»rdini^ 
to  custom,  and  from  the  cliapcl  they 
must  pass  at  once  to  the  gallows. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  the  direct 
path  fVoin  the  chapel  to  the  j^allows 
was  hlocked  up  by  some  repairs  that 
were  ^oing  ou  in  the  prison,  so  the 
condeniiied  were  obliged  to  make  a 
long  circuit.  It  was  one  of  the  lar- 
gest of  our  old  prisons,  a  huge,  irreg- 
ular building,  constructed  with  no 
siinpliciry  of  design,  and  one  set  of 
othcers  did  not  always  know  at  once 
what  was  going  on  in  a  distant  de- 
partment. Hence  it  befell  that  in  a 
certain  passage  of  the  jail  the  con- 
demned and  their  attendants  came  stid- 
deidy  upon  a  new-made  grave  !  Stones 
had  been  taken  up,  and  a  grave  dug 
in  this  passage  :  the  workmen  had 
but  just  completed  it.  The  grave 
filled  up  the  passage,  which  was  nar- 
row, and  but  little  used.  The  men 
who  accompanied  the  murderers 
paused,  abashed  and  chilled.  The 
murderers  paused,  and  looked  at  one 
another ;  no  words  can  describe  that 
look !  Planks  were  put  down,  and 
tiiey  walked  over  their  own  grave  to 
their  death.  Is  there  a  sceptic  who 
tells  me  this  was  chance  ?  Then  I 
tell  him  he  is  a  credulous  fool  to  be- 
lieve that  chance  can  imitate  omnis- 
cience, omnij)Otence,  and  holiness  so 
inimitably.  In  this  astounding  fact 
of  exact  retribution  I  see  nothing  that 
resembles  chance.  I  see  the  arm  of 
God,  and  the  finger  of  God.  His  arm 
dragged  the  murderers  to  the  gallows, 
his  finger  thrust  the  heartlesfi,  cruel 
nrscreants  across  the  grave  that  was 
yawning  for  their  doomed  bodies  ! 
'i'lcmble,  ye  cruel,  God  hates  ye  ! 
]\Ien  speak  of  a  murder,  —  and  some- 
times, by  way  of  distinction,  they  say, 
'  a  cruei  murder.'  See,  now,  what  a 
crime  crui  Ity  must  be,  since  it  can  ag- 
gravate murder,  the  crime  before  which 
all  other  sins  dwindle  into  nothing." 

Of  minor  cruelties  that  do  not  at- 
tack life  itself,  the  most  horrible,  he 
thought,  was  cruelty  to  women.  "  Here 


the  man  must  trample  on  every  man- 
ly feeling,  on  the  instinct  and  the  tradi- 
tions of  sex,  on  the  opinion  of  man- 
kind, on  the  generosity  that  goes  with 
superior  strength  and  courage.  A 
man  who  is  cruel  to  a  woman  is  called 
a  brute,  but  if  the  brutes  could  speak 
they  would  appeal  against  this  phrase 
as  unjust  to  them.  What  animal  but 
man  did  you  ever  see  maltreat  a  fe- 
male of  his  species  ?  The  brutes  are 
not  such  beasts  as  bad,  cruel  men  are.  ; 
Or,  if  you  ever  saw  such  a  monstros-  ' 
ity,  the  animal  that  did  it  was  some 
notorious  coward,  such  as  the  deer, 
which  I  believe  is  now  and  then 
guilty  in  a  trifling  degree  of  this 
dirty  sin,  being  a  rank  coward.  But 
who  ever  saw  a  lion  or  a  dog  or  any 
courageous  animal  let  himself  down 
to  the  level  of  a  cowardly  man  so  far 
as  this  ?  " 

Here  sprang  from  his  lips  a  true 
and  tender  picture  of  a  wife  :  the 
narrow  and  virtuous  circle  of  her 
joys,  her  many  sufferings,  great  and 
httle,  —  no  need  of  being  cruel  to 
her;  she  must  suffer  so  nmch  with- 
out that.  The  claims  to  pily  and  un- 
common consideration  every  wom  in 
builds  up  during  a  few  years  of  mar- 
riage !  Her  inestimable  value  in  the 
house  !  How  true  to  the  hearth  sho 
is  unless  her  husband  corrupts  her  or 
drives  her  to  despair  !  How  often  sho 
is  good  in  spite  of  his  example  !  How 
rarely  sho  is  evil  but  by  his  example! 
God  made  her  weaker  that  man  might 
have  the  honest  satisfaction  and  supe- 
rior joy  of  protecting  and  supporting 
her.  To  torture  her  with  tlie  strength 
so  intrusted  him  for  her  good  is  to 
rebel  against  Heaven's  design,  —  it  is 
to  be  a  monster,  a  coward,  and  a 
fool !  " 

There  was  one  more  kind  of 
cruelty  it  was  his  duty  to  touch 
upon,  —  harsh  treatment  of  those  un- 
hapj)y  persons  to  whom  it  has  not 
pleased  God  to  give  a  full  measure 
of  reason. 

"  This  is  a  sacred  calamity  to  which 
the  intelligent  and  the  good  in  all  ages 
and  places  have  been  tender  and  piti- 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


117 


fill.  In  some  countries  these  unfor- 
tunates are  venerated,  and  being  little 
able  to  <ruard  themselves  are  held  to 
he  under  Heaven's  especial  protection. 
This  is  a  beautiful  belief,  and  honors 
our  fallen  nature.  Yet  in  Chiistian 
Enirlaud,  I  grieve  and  blush  to  say, 
cruelty  often  falls  on  their  unprotected 
heads.  Who  has  not  seen  the  village 
boys  follow  and  mock  these  atHicted 
persons  ?  Youth  is  cruel,  because  the 
great  parent  uf  cruelty  is  general  ig- 
norance and  inexperience  of  the  class 
of  suffering  \vc  inflict.  Men  who  have 
corae  to  tlicir  full  reason  have  not  this 
excuse.  Whit  !  persecute  those  whom 
God  hath  smitten,  but  whom  he  still 
loves,  and  will  take  vengeance  on  all 
■who  maltreat  them  ?  On  such  and  on 
all  of  you  who  are  cruel,  shame  and 
contempt  will  fall  sooner  or  later  even 
in  this  world,  and  at  that  solemn  day 
•when  the  cruel  and  their  victims  shall 
meet  the  Judge  of  the  quick  and  the 
dead,  he  on  whose  mercy  hangs  your 
eternal  fate  will  say  to  you,  *  Have 
ye  shown  mercy  1  '  0,  these  words 
will  crush  your  souls.  ^Madmen  ! 
know  ye  not  that  the  most  righteous 
man  on  earth  can  only  be  saved  by 
God's  mercy,  not  by  his  justice  ? 
Would  you  forfeit  all  hope,  all 
chance,  all  possibility  of  that  mercy, 
by  merciless  cruelty  to  your  brothers 
and  sisters  of  the  race  of  Adam  ? 
Does  the  day  of  jutlirment  seem  to 
you  uncertain  or  so  distant  that  you 
dare  be  cruel  here  during  the  few 
brief  days  you  have  to  prepare  your- 
selves for  et^-rnity  ?  If  you  are  unde;' 
this  delusion  here  I  tear  it  from  your 
souls.  That  day  is  at  hand,  at  the 
door." 

Then  in  a  moment,  by  the  magic  of 
eloquence,  the  great  day  of  retribu- 
tion was  no  longer  faint  and  distant, 
but  upon  them  in  all  its  terrors;  and 
they  who  in  the  morning  had  leaned 
forward  eairerly  to  catch  tlic  message 
of  mercy  now  shrank  and  cowered 
from  the  thunder  that  pealed  over 
their  heads,  and  th.^  liLflitning  of  aw- 
ful words  that  showed  them  by  flashes 
tlie  earth  quaking  and  casting  forth 


her  dead,  —  the  sea  trembling  and 
casting  forth  her  dead,  —  the  terrible 
trumpet  pealing  from  pole  to  pole,  — 
the  books  opened,  —  tlie  dread  .Judi;c 
seated, — and  hell  yawning  fbr  the 
guilty. 

"  Well,  sir,  how  did  you  like  this 
sermon?"  said  Fry,  respectfully. 

"  He  won't  preach  many  more  such 
(imperative  mood)  him.  '  I  '11  teach 
him  to  preach  at  people  from  the 
pulpit." 

"  Well,  that  is  what  I  say,  sir,  hut 
you  said  you  liked  to  hear  him  preach 
at  folk."  ' 

"  So  I  do,"  replied  Hawcs,  angrily, 
"  but  not  at  me,  ye  fool !  " 

This  afternoon  two  of  the  prisoners 
rang  their  bells,  and  on  the  warder 
coming  to  them  begged  in  much  agi- 
tation to  see  the  chaplain.  Mr.  Eden 
was  always  at  the  prisoners'  orders, 
and  came  to  both  of  these ;  one  was  a 
man  about  thirty,  the  other  a  mere 
boy.  The  same  evening  Mr.  Hawes 
sat  down,  his  featui'cs  working  wrath- 
ful ly,  and  despatched  a  note  to  ]\Ir. 
Locoek,  one  of  the  visiting  justices 
and  a  particular  admirer  of  his. 

Meeting  Mr.  Eden  in  the  prison, 
he  did  not  return  that  gentleman's 
salute  :  this  was  his  way  of  implying 
war  ;  events  were  thickening  ;  a 
storm  was  brewing.  Tliis  same 
evening  there  was  a  tap  at  Mr. 
Eden's  private  door,  and  Evans  en- 
tered the  room.  The  man's  manner 
was  peculiar.  He  wore  outside  a 
dogged  look,  as  if  fighting  against 
some  inward  feeling  ;  he  entered,  look- 
ing down  most  periinaciously  at  the 
floor.     "  Well,  Evans." 

Evans  approached,  his  eyes  still 
glued  upon  the  floor.  He  shoved  a 
printed  paper  roughly  into  Mr. 
Eden's  hand,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
sulky  reproach  :  "  Saw  ye  fret  because 
ye  could  not  get  it,  and  could  n't  bear 
to  see  yo  fret." 

"  Thank  you,  Evans,  th  ink  you."  • 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  sir,''  said 
Evans,  with  momentary  deference  and 
kindness.     Then,  turning  suddenly  at 


118 


"IT  IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


the  door  in  {rreat  wrath  with  a  tenden- 
cy to  Avhimper,  he  roared  out,  "  Ye  Tl 
pet  me  turned  out  of  uiy  place, 
tliat 's  what  ye  Ml  do!"  and  went 
oft"  apparently  in  tremendous  dud- 
geon. The  printed  pa])er  contained 
"  the  rules  of"  the  prison,"  a  copy  of 
which  Mr.  Eden  had  asked  from 
llawes,  and  hcen  refused.  Evans  had 
wat<hcd  his  opportunity,  j;ot  them 
from  another  warder  in  return  for  two 
gla.-<ses  of  grop:  outside  the  jail. 

Mr.  Eden  fdl  to  and  studied  the 
paper  carefully  till  bedtime.  As  he 
reiid  it  his  eye  more  than  once  flashed 
with  sati^facti()n  in  spite  of  a  great 
despondency  that  had  now  for  a  day 
or  two  been  creepinjr  upon  him. 

This  depression  dated  from  biped 
Carter's  crucifixion,  or  soon  after. 
He  struggled  gallantly  against  it ;  it 
appeared  in  none  of  his  public  acts. 
But  when  alone  his  heart  seemed  to 
have  turned  to  lead.  A  cold,  languid 
hopelessness  most  foreign  to  his  high, 
sanguine  nature  weighed  him  to  the 
earth,  and  the  Dead  Sea  rolled  over 
his  spirit. 

Earnest  Mr.  Ilawes  hated  good  Mr. 
Eden  ;  one  comfort,  by  means  of 
his  influence  with  the  justices  he 
could  got  him  turned  out  of  the 
pri'^on.  Meantime  what  could  he  do 
to  spite  him  1  Begin  by  punishing  a 
prisoner,  that  is  the  only  thing  that 
stings  him.  With  these  good  inten- 
tions earnest  Ilawes  turned  out  and 
looked  a!)Out  for  a  prisoner  to  punish  ; 
unfortunately  for  poor  Josejihs  the 
governor's  eye  fell  upon  him  as  he 
came  out  of  the  chapel.  The  next 
minute  lie  was  put  on  a  stiff  crank, 
v.hieh  led  in  due  course  to  the  pillory. 
"When  he  had  been  in  al>out  an  hour 
and  a  half,  Ilawes  winked  to  Fry, 
ivr.d  said  to  him  under  his  breatli, 
"  Let  the  ]>n-Non  know." 

Fry  stroll  (l  into  the  prison  :  he 
r.i?t  ^Ir.  IMen  at  a  cell  door. 
"  Josepl;s  n  fraetory  again,  sir,"  said 
Lc,  with  mock  civility. 

Mr.  Eden  looked  him  in  the  face, 
but  said  nothing.  He  went  to  his 
own  room,  took  a  paper  oft"  the  table, 


and  came  into  the  yard.  Josephs 
was  beginning  to  sham,  and  a  bucket 
hail  just  been  thrown  over  him 
amidst  the  coarse  laughter  of  Messrs. 
Fry,  Hodges,  and  Ilawes.  Evans, 
who  happened  to  be  in  attendance, 
stood  aloof  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  Mr.  Eden  coming, 
Hawes  gave  a  vindictive  chuckle. 
"  Another  bucket,"  cried  he ;  and 
taking  it  himself,  he  contrived  to 
sprinkle  Mr.  Eden,  as  well  as  to 
sluice  his  immediate  victim. 

Mr.  Eden  took  no  notice  of  this  im- 
pertinence, but  to  the  surprise  of  all 
there  he  strode  between  the  victim 
and  his  tormentors,  and  said  sternly, 
"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  commit- 
ting an  illegal  assault  upon  this  pris- 
oner ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Hawes,  with  a 
cold  sneer. 

"  Then  I  shall  show  you.  Here 
are  the  printed  rules  of  the  prison  ; 
you  have  no  authority  over  a  prisoner, 
but  what  these  rules  give  you.  Now 
show  me  where  they  permit  you  to 
pillory  a  prisoner." 

"  They  don't  forbid  it,  that  is 
enoUiih." 

"  No,  it  is  not ;  they  don't  forbid 
you  to  hang  him,  or  to  sear  him  with 
a  hot  iron,  but  they  tell  you  in  this 
parMgrai)h  what  punishments  you 
may  inflict,  and  that  excludes  all 
punishments  of  your  own  invention. 
You  may  neither  hanir  him,  nor  burn 
him,  nor  famish  him,  nor  crucify  hiin  : 
all  these  acts  are  eciually  illegal.  So 
take  warning,  all  of  you  here,  — you 
are  all  servants  of  the  law,  —  don't 
let  me  catch  you  a-saulting  a  prison- 
er contrary  to  the  law,  or  you  siiall 
smart  to  the  uttermost.  Evans,  I 
command  you  in  the  name  of  the  law 
release  that  prisoner." 

Evans,  thus  appealed  to.  fidgeted, 
and  tinned  color,  and  his  hands 
worked  by  his  side.  "  Your  rever- 
ence ! "  cried  he,  in  an  imploring 
tone,  and  stayed  where  he  Avas  ;  on 
this  Mr.  Eden  made  no  more  ado, 
but  darted  to  Josephs's  side,  and  be- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


119 


gan  to  unfiisten  him  with  nimble  fin- 
gers. 

Hawes  stood  dumfoundered  for  a 
miiuite  or  two  ;  then  recovering  him- 
self he  roared  out :  — 

*'  Officers,  do  your  duty  !  " 

Fry  and  Hodges  advanced  upon 
Mr.  Eden,  but  before  they  could  get 
at  him  the  huge  body  of  Evans  inter- 
posed itself.  The  man  was  pale,  but 
doggedly  resolved. 

"  Must  n't  lay  a  finger  on  his  rever- 
ence," said  he,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
but  between  his  clenched  teeth,  and 
with  the  look  of  a  bulldog  over  a 
bone. 

**  What,  do  you  rebel  against  me, 
Evans  1  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Evans,  softening 
his  tone,  "  but  nobody  must  atFront 
his  reverence.  Look  here,  sir,  his 
reverence  knows  a  great  deal  more 
than  I  do,  and  he  says  this  is  against 
the  law.  He  showed  you  the  act, 
and  you  could  n't  answer  him  except 
by  violence,  which  ain't  no  answer  at 
ail.  Now  I  am  a  servant  of  the  law, 
and  I  know  better  than  go  against  the 
law." 

"  There,  I  want  no  more  of  your 
chat ;  loose  the  prisoner." 

"  Seems  to  me  he  is  loosed,"  said 
Fry. 

"  Go  to  the  5 -lb.  crank,  Josephs, 
and  let  me  see  how  much  you  can  do 
in  half  an  hour." 

"  That  I  will,  your  reverence,"  and 
oiFhe  ran. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  Hawes,  sternly, "  I 
put  up  with  this  now  because  it  must 
end  next  week.  I  have  written  to  the 
visiting  justices,  and  they  will  settle 
whether  you  are  to  be  master  in  the 
jail,  or  I." 

"  Neither,  Mr.  Hawes.  The  law 
shall  lie  your  master  and  mine." 

"  Very  good  !  but  there  's  a  hole  in 
your  coat  for  as  clever  as  you  are  ; 
every  jail  has  its  customs  as  well  as 
its  rules." 

"  Which  customs  if  illegal  are 
abuses,  and  shall  be  swept  out  of 
it." 

"  I  '11  promise  you  one  thing,  — 


the  justices  shall  sweep  you  out  of  the 
jail."" 

"  How  can  you  promise  that  1  " 

"  Because  they  only  see  with  my 
eyes,  and  hear  with  my  ears ;  they 
would  do  a  great  deal  more  for  me 
than  ki(  k  out  a  refractory  chaplain." 

Mr.  Eden's  eye  flashed ;  he  took 
out  his  note-book. 

"Present  Fry,  Hodges,  Evans. 
Mr.  Hawes  asserts  that  the  visiting 
justices  see  only  with  his  eyes,  and 
hear  with  his  ears." 

Hawes  laughed  insolently,  but  a 
little  uneasily. 

"  In  spite  of  your  statement  that 
the  magistrates  are  unworthy  of  their 
oflice,  I  venture  to  hope,  for  the  cred- 
it of  the  county,  there  will  not  be 
found  three  magistrates  to  counte- 
nance your  illegal  cruelties.  But 
should  there  be  —  " 

"  Ay  ;  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  higher  and  appeal  to 
the  Home  Secretary." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  He  won't  take  any 
notice  of  you." 

"  Then  I  shall  appeal  to  the  Sov- 
ereign." 

"  And  if  she  takes  you  for  a  mad- 
man ?  " 

"  I  shall  appeal  to  the  people.  O 
Mr.  Hawes,  1  give  you  my  honor  this 
great  question,  whether  or  not  the 
law  can  penetrate  a  prison,  shall  be 
sifted  to  the  bottom.  Pending  my 
appeals  to  the  Home  Office,  the  Sov- 
ereign and  the  people,  I  have  placed 
a  thousand  pounds  in  my  solicitor's 
hands  —  " 

"  A  thousand  pounds !  have  you, 
sir  1  What  for,  if  I  am  not  too  cu- 
rious ?  " 

"  For  this,  sir.  Each  prisoner 
whom  you  have  pilloried  and  starved 
and  assaulted  contrary  to  law  shall 
bring  an  action  of  assault  against 
you  the  moment  he  leaves  the  prison. 
He  shall  have  counsel,  and  the  turn- 
keys and  myself  shall  be  subpoenaed 
as  evidence.  When  once  we  get  you 
into  court  you  will  find  that  a  prison 
is  the  stronghold  of  law,  not  a  den  of 
lawlessness." 


120 


IT   IS   NEVKR   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND.' 


He  then  turned  sharp  on  the  war- 
ders. 

"  I  warn  you  against  all  your  ille- 
gal practices.  Mr.  Hawes's  orders 
shall  neither  excuse  nor  protect  you  : 
you  owe  your  first  ohcdience  to  the 
crown  and  the  law.  Here  are  your 
powers  and  your  duties  ;  you  can  all 
read.  Here  it  is  ruled  tluu  a  prisoner 
shall  receive  four  visits  a  day  from 
tlie  {governor,  chaplain,  and  two  turn- 
keys ;  these  four  visits  are  to  keep 
the  man  from  breaking  down  under 
the  separate  and  silent  system.  You 
liave  all  heen  breaking  this  rule,  but 
you  siiall  not.  I  shall  report  you, 
Evans,  you,  Fry,  and  you,  Hodges, 
and  you,  Mr.  Hawes,  to  the  authori- 
ties, it"  after  this  warning  you  leave  a 
single  prisoner  unvisited  and  unspo- 
ken with." 

"  Have  you  done  preaching,  par- 
son ? " 

"  Not  quite,  jailer." 

He  tapped  the  printed  paper. 

"  Here  is  a  distinct  order  that  sick 
prisoners  shall  be  taken  out  of  their 
cells  into  the  infirmary,  a  vast  room 
where  they  have  a  much  better  chance 
of  recovering  than  in  those  stinking 
cells  ventilated  scientifically,  i.  e.  not 
ventilated  at  all.  Now  there  are 
seven  jirisoners  dangerously  ill  at  this 
moment ;  yet  you  smotlier  these  un- 
fortunates in  their  solitary  cells,  in- 
stead of  giving  them  the  infirmary 
and  nurses  according  to  the  law. 
Let  these  seven  persons  he  in  tlie  in- 
firmary before  ])()st-time  this  even- 
ing, or' to-morrow  I  report  you  to  the 
Secretary  of  iState." 

With  these  words  he  went  off,  leav- 
ing them  all  loi^king  at  one  anoth- 
er. 

"  He  is  coming  biick  again,"  said 
Fry. 

He  did  come  back  again,  with 
heightened  color  and  Hashing  eyes. 

"  Here  is  the  prisoners'  diet,"  cried 
he,  tap'ting  the  printed  rules ;  "  it 
is  settled  to  an  ounce  by  law,  an<l 
I  see  no  authority  j:iven  to  the  jailer 
to  tamper  Aviih  it  uniler  any  circum- 
stances.    Yet  I  find  you  perpetually 


robbing  prisoners  of  their  food. 
Don't  let  me  catch  either  jailer  or 
turnkeys  at  tliis  again.  Jailers  and 
turnkeys  have  no  more  right  to 
steal  a  prisoner's  food  than  to  rob 
the  till  of  the  liauk  of  England.  He 
receives  it  defined  in  bulk  iind  qualiiv 
from  the  law's  own  hand,  and  the 
wretch  who  will  rob  him  of  an  ounce 
of  it  is  a  felon  without  a  felon's  ex- 
cuse ;  and  as  a  felon  I  will  proceed 
against  him  by  the  dog-whip  of  the 
criminal  law,  by  t!ie  gibbet  of  the 
pul)lic  press,  and  by  every  weapon 
that  wit  and  honesty  have  ever  found 
to  scourge  cruelty  and  theft  since  civ- 
ilization dawned  upon  the  earth." 

He  was  gone,  and  left  them  all 
turned  to  statues.  A  righteous  man's 
wrath  is  far  more  terrii)le  tiian  the 
short-lived  passion  of  the  unprinci- 
I)led.  It  is  rarer,  and  springs  from  a 
deeper  source  than  temper. 

Even  Hawes  staggered  under  this 
mortal  defiance,  so  fierce  and  unex- 
pected. For  a  moment  he  regretted 
having  pushed  matters  so  far. 

This  scene  let  daylight  in  upon 
shallow,  earnest  Hawes,  and  showed 
him  a  certain  shallow  error  he  had 
fallen  into.  Because  insolence  had 
HO  earthly  eflect  on  the  great  man's 
temper,  he  had  concluded  that  nothing 
could  make  him  boil  over.  A  shade 
of  fear  was  now  added  to  rage,  hatred, 
and  a  desire  for  vengeance. 

"  Fry,  come  to  my  house." 

Evans  had  a  wife  and  children,  and 
these  hostages  to  fortune  weiglied 
down  his  manly  spirit.  He  came  to 
Hawes  as  he  was  going  out,  and 
said  submissively,  tliough  not  gra- 
ciously :  — 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  to  think  I  should 
disolx'v  you,  i)ut  when  his  reverence 
said  it  was  against  tlie  law  —  " 

"  That  is  enough,  my  man,"  re- 
plied Hawes,  quietly  ;  "  he  has  be- 
witched you,  it  seems.  "When  he  is 
kicked  out,  yon  will  be  my  servant 
again,  I  dare  say." 

The  words  and  the  tone  were  not 
ill-humored.  It  was  not  Hawes's  cue 
to  quarrel  with  a  turnkey. 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


121 


.'  ^-w^s  looked  suddenly  up,  for  his 
Jtji\^  ivjf.>  relieved  by  Mr.  Huwes's 
mo(kn  "sf.-n  ;  he  looked  up,  and  saw 
a  cold,  stern  eye  dwelliufj  on  hiin  with 
a  meaning-  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  words  spoken. 

Small  natures  read  one  another. 

Evans  savv  his  fate  inscribed  in 
Hawes's  eye. 


CHAPTE3  XVI. 

Hawes  and  Fry  sat  in  council.  A 
copy  of  the  prison  rules  \ias  before 
them,  and  the  more  tney  looked  at 
tiiem  after  Mr.  Eden's  inte/vrctfition, 
the  less  they  liked  them  ;  they  were  se- 
vere and  simple  ;  stringent  a^^ainst 
the  prisoners  on  certain  points  ;  strin- 
gent in  their  favor  on  others. 

"  The  sick-list  must  go  to  the  in- 
firmary, I  believe,"  said  Hawes, 
thoughtfully.  "  He  'd  beat  us  there. 
The  justices  will  support  me  on  every 
other  point,  because  they  must  contra- 
dict tiiemselves  else.  I  '11  have  that 
fellow  out  of  the  jail.  Fry,  before  a 
montli  is  out,  and  meantime  what  can 
I  do  to  be  revenged  on  him?  " 

'•  Punish  'em  all  the  more,"  sug- 
gested the  simple-minded  Fry, 

'•  No,  that  won't  do  ;  better  keep  a 
little  quiet  now  till  he  is  out  of  the 
jail.  Fine  it  would  look  if  he  was 
really  to  bribe  these  vermin  to  bring 
actions  against  me,  and  subpoena  him- 
self and  that  sneaking  dog  Evans." 

"  Well,  sir,  but  if  you  turn  him  out 
he  will  do  it  all  the  more." 

"  You  fool,  can't  you  see  the  differ- 
ence ■?  If  he  comes  into  court  a  ser- 
vant of  the  crown,  every  lie  he  tells 
will  go  for  gospel.  But  if  he  comes 
a  disgiaccd  servant  cashiered  for  re- 
fractory conduct,  why,  then  we  could 
tell  the  jury  it  is  all  his  spite  at  be- 
ing turned  off." 

"  You  know  a  thing  or  two,  sir," 
whined  the  doleful  Fry. 

Hawes  passed  him  a  fresh  tumbler 

of  grog,    and   pondered   deeply   and 

anxiously.      But    suddenly   an  idea 

flushed  on  him  that  extinguished  his 

6 


other  meditations.  "  Give  me  the 
rules."  He  ran  bis  eye  rapidly  over 
them.  "  Why,  no !  of  course  not, 
what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  see  that  half 
an  hour  ago." 

"  What  is  it,  sir?  " 

"Finish  your  grog  first,  and  then  I 
have  a  job  for  you."  He  sat  down 
and  wrote  two  lines  on  a  slip  of  paper. 

"  Have  you  done  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  take  this  order." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  the  printed  rules  in  your 
hand,  —  here,  take  'em." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  take  Hodges  and  Evans  with 
you,  and  tell  me  every  word  that 
sneaking  dog  Evans  says  and  every- 
thing he  does." 

"  Yes,  sir.  But  what  are  we  all 
three  to  do "?  " 

"  Execute  this  order  !  " 

An  ebullition  of  wrath  was  as  rare 
with  Mr.  Eden  as  an  eruption  of  Ve- 
suvius. His  deep-rooted  indignation 
against  cruelty  remained ;  it  was  a 
part  of  his  nature.  But  his  ruffled 
feathers  smoothed  themselves  the  mo- 
ment little  Hawes  and  Co.  were  out  of 
his  eye.  He  even  said  to  himself, 
''What  is  the  matter  with  me?  one 
moment  so  despondent,  the  next  iras- 
cible. I  hardly  know  myself.  I  must 
take  a  little  of  my  antidote."  So  say- 
ing, he  proceeded  to  visit  some  of 
those  cells  into  which  he  had  intro- 
duced rational  labor  (anti-theft  he 
called  it).  Here  he  found  cheerful 
looks  as  well  as  busy  hands.  Here 
industrj'  was  relished  with  a  gusto  in- 
conceivable to  those  who  have  never 
stagnated  body  and  soul  in  enforced 
solitude  and  silence.  Here  for  the  time, 
at  least,  were  honest  converts  to  anti- 
theft.  He  had  seen  them  dull  and 
stupid,  brutalized,  drifting  like  inani- 
mate bodies  on  the  heavy  waters  of 
the  Dead  Sea.  He  had  drawn  them 
ashore  and  put  life  into  them.  He 
had  taught  their  glazed  eyes  to  spar- 
kle with  the  stimulus  of  rational  and 
interesting  work,  and  those  same  eyes 
rewarded   him   by   beaming  on   him 


122 


IT   IS   XKVKU   TOO   LATE   TO   MKXD.' 


witli  pleasure  and  e:ratitude  whenever 
lie  came.  This  soothed  and  cheered 
liis  weary  spirit  vi-xed  l)y  the  wiekcd- 
TH'ss  and  stupidity  that  surrounded 
him  and  ohstructed  tlie  i^'ood  work. 

His  female  artisans  <;,ive  him  i  keen 
pleasure,  for  here  lie  biucHti'd  a  sex  as 
wi'U  as  a  prisoner.  IL'  had  lon^j  been 
sayini:;  that  women  are  as  ca|»able  us 
invn  of  a  multitude  of  ban  lirrafts, 
from  which  they  are  excludjd  by 
man's  jealousy  and  grandmamma's 
imbecility.  And  this  wise  man  hoped 
to  raise  a  few  Englishwomen  to  the 
industrial  level  of  Frenchwomen  and 
Englishmen  ;  not  by  writing  and  prat- 
tling that  the  sex  are  at  present  men's 
ecjuals  in  intelligence  and  energy, 
which  is  a  stupid  falsehood  calculated 
to  keep  them  forever  our  inferiors  by 
persuading  them  they  need  climb  no 
higher  than  they  have  climbed. 

His  line  was  very  different.  "  At 
present  you  arc  in'rtnitely  man's  in- 
ferior in  various  energy,"  said  he. 
"  Dependants  are  inferiors  through- 
out the  world." 

If  they  were  not  so  at  first  starting 
such  a  relation  would  make  them  so 
in  two  months. 

"  Try  and  be  more  than  mere  de- 
pendants on  men,"  was  his  axiom, 
"  Don't  talk  that  you  are  his  equal, 
and  then  0])en  that  eloquent  mouth 
to  be  fed  by  his  hand,  —  do  some- 
thing !  It  is  by  doinir  fifiy  us«,fid  and 
therefore  lucrative  tilings  to  your  one 
that  man  becomes  your  creditor,  and 
a  creditor  will  be  a  superior  lo  the 
world's  end.  Out  of  these  tifty  things 
you  might  have  doiu;  twenty  a-^  well 
as  he  can  do  them,  ami  ten  much  bet- 
ter ;  and  those  thirty  n-ldud  ro  the 
domestic  duties  in  which  you  do  so 
much  more  than  your  sliare  would  go 
far  to  balance  the  account  and  equal- 
ize the  sexe^." 

Thus  lie  would  sometimes  talk  to 
the  more  intelliu^ont  of  his  hussi.-s  ; 
but  be  did  a  great  deal  more  than 
talk.  He  supplied  from  himself  that 
dcHciency  of  inventive  power  and  en- 
terprise which  is  woman's  weak  i)oint  ; 
and  he  tilled  those  wide  powers  of 


masterly  execution  which  they  pos- 
sess unknown  to  (Jraiulpipa  C«nt 
an<l  (iran.lmamuia  Precedent.  As 
this  clear  head  had  foreseen,  his  wo- 
rn.n  came  out  ariisan^.  The  eye  iliat 
could  thread  a  needle  proved  accurate 
enough  lor  anytliing.  Their  supple 
taper  lingers  soon  learned  to  pick  up 
type,  and  place  it  quite  as  quick  as 
even  the  stilf  digits  of  the  male  all  one 
size  from  knuckle  to  nail.  The  same 
with  watchmaking,  and  other  trades 
reputed  masculine;  they  beat  the 
men's  heads  off  at  learning  many 
kinds  of  finger-work  new  to  both  ; 
their  singular  patience  stood  them  in 
good  stead  here ;  they  undermined 
difficulties  that  the  males  tried  to  jump 
over  and  fell  prostrate. 

A  great  treat  was  in  store ;  one  of 
the  fruit-trees  he  iiad  planted  in  the 

huge   fallow  of Jail,  was  to   l»e 

shaken  this  afternoon.  'J'wo  or  three 
well-disposed  prisoners  had  been  set  to 
review  their  past  lives  candidly,  and 
to  relate  them  simply,  with  rcfiections. 
Of  these  ]Mr.  Eden  cut  out  every  one 
which  had  been  put  in  to  ])lease  him, 
retaining  such  as  were  sober  and 
seemed  genuine  to  his  lynx  eye. 

Mr.  Eden  knew  that  some  men  and 
women  listen  more  to  iheir  fellows 
than  their  superiors,  —  to  the  experi- 
ences and  sentiments  of  those  who 
are  in  their  own  situation,  than  to 
those  who  stand  higiier  but  farther 
away.  He  had  found  nut  tiiat  a  bid 
man's  life  honestly  told  is  a  I)eacon. 
So  he  set  '*  roguery  teaching  by  ex- 
amples." 

There  were  three  male  narratives 
in  the  press,  and  two  female.  For  a 
day  or  two  past,  the  printers  (all 
women)  had  been  setting  up  the  type, 
and  now  the  sheets  were  to  be  struck 

otr. 

There  was  no  little  expectation 
among  tlu!  prisoners.  They  were  cu- 
rious to  sec  their  compeers  in  print, 
and  to  learn  their  stories,  and  see  iiow 
they  would  tell  them  ;  and  as  for  the 
writers,  their  bodies  were  immured, 
but  their  minds  lluttered  al)Out  o;( 
tiptoe  round  the  great  engine  of  pub- 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


123 


licity,  as  the  author  of  the  "  Novum 
Or<^anon  "  fluttered  when  he  first 
went  into  print,  and  as  the  future  au- 
thoress of  *'  Lives  and  Careers  of  In- 
fants in  Arms  "  will  flutter. 

The  jircss  stood  in  the  female-«^ov- 
ernor's  room.  One  she-artisan,  duly 
taught  before,  inked  the  type,  uud  put 
in  a  blank  sheet. 

No.  2  pulled  the  bar  of  the  press 
towards  her,  and  at  the  moment  of 
contact  threw  herself  back  with  sud- 
den vigor,  and  gave  the  telling  nip  ; 
the  types  were  again  covered  with 
ink,  the  sheet  reversed,  and  No.  3 
(one  of  the  writers)  drew  out  a  print- 
ed sheet,  —  two  copies  of  two  stories 
complete. 

"  Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  "  cried  No.  3, 
flushing  with  surprise  and  admira- 
tion, "  how  beautiful !  See,  your  rev- 
erence, here  is  mine, — 'Life  of  an 
Unfortunate  Girl.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  it.  And  pray  what  do 
you  mean  by  an  unfortunate  girl  ?  " 

"  O  sir  !  you  know." 

"  Unfortunate  means  one  whom  we 
are  bound  to  respect  as  well  as  pity. 
Has  that  been  your  character  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  mournful  reply. 

"  Then  why  print  a  falsehood  1 
Falsehoods  lurk  in  adjectives  as  well 
as  substantives.  Misapplied  terms  are 
strongholds  of  self-deception.  No- 
body says,  '  I  am  unfortunate,  there- 
fore I  abhor  myself  and  repent  in 
dust  and  ashes.'  Such  words  are  for- 
titicatioiis  to  keep  self-knowledge 
and  its  brother  repentance,  from  the 
soul." 

"  O  sir  !  what  am  I  to  call  ray- 
self  ?  "    She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  My  dear,  you  told  me  a  week  ago 
you  were  —  a  penitent." 

"  So  I  am,  indeed  I  am.  Sir,  may 
I  change  it  to  '  a  penitent  girl '  ?  " 

"  You  would  make  me  very  happy 
if  you  could  do  it  with  truth." 

"  Then  I  can,  indeed  I  can."  And 
she  took  out  "  an  untbrturtate,"  and 
put  in  "a  penitent." 

"  There,"  said  she,  glowing  with 
exultation  and  satisfaction,  "  '  Life  of 
a  reniteut  Girl.' " 


O,  it  was  a  pretty  sight.  Their 
little  hearts  were  all  in  it.  Their  lit- 
tle spirits  rose  visibly  as  the  work 
went  on,  — such  beaming  eyes,  — such 
glowing  cheeks,  and  innocent  looks 
of  sparkling  triumph  to  their  friend 
and  father,  who  smiled  back  like  Ju- 
piter, and  quizzings  of  each  other  to 
stimulate  to  greater  speed. 

Ill  went  the  sheets,  on  went  the 
press,  out  came  the  tales,  u])  grew 
the  pile,  amidst  quips  and  cranks  and 
rays  of  silver-toned  laughter,  social 
labor's  natural  music.  They  were 
all  so  innocent  and  so  happy,  when 
the  door  was  unceremoniously  opened, 
and  in  burst  Fry  and  Hodges,  fol- 
lowed by  Evans  crawUng  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ground. 

The  workwomen  looked  astonished, 
but  did  not  interrupt  their  work.  Fry 
came  up  to  Mr.  Eden,  and  gave  him 
a  slip  of  paper  on  which  Hawes  had 
written  an  order  that  all  work  not  ex- 
pressly authorized  by  the  law  should 
be  expelled  from  the  jail  on  the  in- 
stant. 

Mr.  Eden  perused  the  order,  and 
the  color  rose  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 
By  way  of  coniment  Fry  put  the  pris- 
on rules  under  his  eye. 

'•Anything  about  printing,  or  weav- 
ing, or  watchmaking,  in  tliese  rules, 
sir?  " 

Mr.  Eden  was  silent. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  cast  your  e\'e 
over  'em  and  see,  sir,"  continued  Fry, 
slyly.  "  Shouldn't  like  to  oftlnd  the 
law  again." 

Mr.  Eden  took  the  paper,  but  not 
to  read  it, — he  knew  it  by  heart.  It 
was  to  hide  his  anguish  from  the  ene- 
my. Hawes  had  felled  him  with  his 
own  weapon.  He  put  down  ihe  pa- 
per and  showed  his  face,  which  was 
now  stern  and  composed. 

"  What  we  are  doing  is  against  the 
letter  of  the  law,  as  your  pillory  and 
your  starvation  of  prisoners  are 
against  both  letter  and  spirit.  Mr. 
Hawes  shall  find  no  excuse  for  his  il- 
legal practices  in  any  act  of  mine.'* 

He  then  turned  to  the  artisans. 
"  Girls,  you  must  leave  off." 


124 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


"Leave  off,  sir?"  cried  No.  3, 
faintly. 

"  Yes,  no  words  ;  obey  the  prison 
rules  ;  they  do  not  allow  it." 

'*  Come,  my  birds,"  shouted  Hodges, 
rouf^hly,  to  the  women.  "  Stand 
clear,  we  want  this  gear." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  it,  Mr. 
Hodges  ?  " 

"  Only  to  put  it  outside  the  pris- 
on gate,  sir.     That  is  the  order." 

The  printing-press,  representative 
of  knowledge,  enemy  of  darkness, 
stupidity,  cruelty,  organ  of. civiliza- 
tion, was  ignominiously  thrust  to  the 
door. 

This  feat  performed,  they  went  to 
attack  anti-theft. 

"  Will  you  come  along  with  us,  sir, 
to  see  it  is  all  legal '{  "  sneered  Fry. 

"  I  will  come  to  see  that  insolence 
is  not  added  to  cruelty." 

At  the  door  of  Mary  Baker's  cell 
Mr.  Eden  hung  back  as  Hodges 
and  Fry  passed  in.  At  last  after  a 
struggle  he  entered  the  cell.  The 
turnkeys  had  gathered  up  the  girl's 
work  and  tools,  and  were  coming  out 
with  them,  whilst  the  artisan  stood 
desolate  in  the  middle  of  the  cell. 

"  O  sir,"  cried  she  to  Mr.  Eden,  "  I 
am  glad  you  are  here.  These  black- 
guards have  broke  into  my  cell,  and 
they  are  robbing  it." 

"  Hush,  Mar\' ;  what  they  are  doing 
is  the  law,  and  we  were  acting  against 
the  law." 

*'  Were  we,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  is  a  bad  law,  and  will  be 
changed  ;  but  till  it  is  ciianged  we 
must  obey  it.  You  are  only  one  vic- 
tim among  many.  Be  patient,  and 
j)ray  for  help  to  bear  it." 

"  Yes,  your  reverence  :  are  they  all 
to  be  r()l)bed  of  their  tools  1 " 

"All." 

"  Poor  things  !  "  said  Mary  Baker. 

"Evans,  it  is  beyond  my  strength, 
—  I  am  but  a  man  ;  I  can  bear  even 
this,  but  I  can't  bear  to  see  it  done. 
I  can't  bear  it !     I  can't  bear  it !  " 

And  his  reverence  turned  his  back 
on  the  moral  l)Utchers,  and  crept  away 
to  his  own  room.    There  he  sank  into 


a  chair,  and  laid  his  brow  upon  the 
table,  with  his  hands  stretched  out 
before  him,  and  hi.s  whole  frame  trem- 
bling most  piteously. 

Eden  and  Hawes  are  not  level  an- 
tagonists, —  one  takes  things  to  heart, 
the  other  to  temper. 

In  this  bitter  hour,  it  seemed  to 
him  impossible  that  he  could  ever 
counteract  the  pernicious  Hawes. 

"  There  is  but  one  chance  left  for 
these  poor  souls.  I  shall  trv  it,  and 
it  will  fail !  Well !  let  it  fail'!  Were 
there  a  thousand  more  chances  against 
me  tiian  there  are,  1  must  battle  to 
the  last.  Let  me  mature  my  plan  "  ; 
and  he  fell  into  a  sad,  but  stern  rev- 
ery. 

He  lay  thus  crushed,  though  not 
defeated,  more  than  two  hours  in  si- 
lence. Had  Hawes  seen  him,  he 
would  have  exulted  at  his  appear- 
ance. 

"  A  man  from  the  jail  to  speak  to 
you,  sir." 

A  heavy  rap  at  the  parlor  door,  and 
Evans  came  in  sheepishly,  smoothing 
down  his  hair.  Mr.  Eden  turned  his 
head  as  he  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  seat. 

•"  1  could  n't  sleep  till  I  had  spoken 
to  you.  I  obeyed  your  orders,  sir. 
We  have  undone  your  work." 

"  How  did  the  poor  souls  bear  it  1 " 

"  ISome  cried,  some  abused  us,  one 
or  two  showed  they  were  better  than 
we  are." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  They  prayed  Heaven  to  forgive 
us,  and  hoped  we  might  never  come 
to  know  what  they  i'elt.  I  wish  I  'd 
never  seen  the  inside  of  a  jail.  Fry 
got  a  scratched  face  in  one  cell,  sir." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  I  shall 
have  to  seold  her;  who  was  it? " 

"  You  won't  scold  her;  you  won't 
have  the  heart." 

"  I  will  scold  her  whether  I  have 
the  heart  or  not.     AVho  was  it  ?  " 

"  No.  .57,  a  gal  that  had  some  cat- 
erpillars." 

*'  Silkworms !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  silkworms,  and  it  seems 
she  has  got  to  be  uncommon  fond  of 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


125 


them,  calls  'em  her  children,  poor 
soul.  When  we  came  in  and  went  to 
take  them  away,  she  stood  up  for 'em, 
and  said  Ave  had  np  right,  —  his  rever- 
ence gave  them  her." 

"  \yell  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  of  course  they  made 
short  work,  and  took  them  away  by 
force.  Then  I  saw  the  girl  turn 
Avhite,  and  her  eye  getting  wildish ; 
however,  I  don't  know  as  it  would 
have  come  to  anything,  but,  with 
them  snatching  away  the  leaves 
and  the  grubs,  one  of  them  fell  on 
the  ground.  The  poor  girl,  she  goes 
to  lift  it  up,  and  Fry,  he  sees  her, 
and  put  his  foot  on  it  before  she 
could  get  to  it." 

"Ah!" 

"  I  dare  say  he  did  n't  stop  to  think, 
you  know  ;  but  I  don't  envy  him  hav- 
ing done  it.  Well,  sir,  he  paid  for  it. 
The  girl  just  gave  one  sort  of  a  yell, 

—  you  could  not  call  it  anything  else, 

—  and  she  went  right  at  his  head,  both 
claws  going,  and  as  quick  one  after 
another  as  a  cat.  The  blood  squirted 
like  a  fountain,  —  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it.  She  'd  have  killed  him 
if  it  had  n't  been  for  Hodges  and  me." 

'•Killed  him'?  nonsense, — a  great 
stroiiir  fellow ! " 

"  No  nonsense  at  all,  sir.  She  was 
stronger  thin  he  was  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  that  moment  would  have 
done  his  business.  She  meant  killing. 
Sir,"  said  Evans,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  her  teeth  were  making  for  his  jugu- 
lar when  I  wrenched  her  away,  and  it 
was  like  tearing  soul  from  body  to 
get  her  off  him,  and  she  snarling,  and 
her  teeth  gnashing  for  him  all  the 
time." 

Mr.  Eden  winced. 

"  The  wretched  creature !  I  was 
putting  her  on  the  way  to  heaven,  and 
in  one  moment  they  made  a  fiend  of 
her.  Evans,  you  are  not  the  same 
man  you  were  a  month  ago." 

"  No,  sir,  that  I  am  not.  When  I 
think  of  what  a  brute  I  used  to  be  to 
them  poor  creatures,  I  don't  seem  to 
know  myself." 

"  What  has  changed  you  ?  " 


"  O,  you  know  very  well." 

"  Do  I  ?  No  ;  I  have  a  guess  : 
but  —  " 

"  Why,  your  sermons,  to  be  sure." 

"  My  sermons  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Why,  how  could  I  hear 
them  and  my  heart  be  as  hard  as  it 
used  ?     They  would  soften  a  stone." 

A  fiiint  streak  of  surprise  and  simple 
satisfaction  crossed  Mr.  Eden's  sallow 
face. 

"  But  it  is  n't  your  sermons  only,  — 
it  is  your  life,  as  the  saying  is.  I  was 
no  better  than  Hawes  and  Fry  and 
the  rest.  I  used  to  look  on  a  prisoner 
as  so  much  dirt.  But  when  I  saw  a 
gentleman  like  you  respect  them,  and 
say  openly  you  loved  them,  I  began 
to  take  a  thought,  and  says  I, '  Hallo  ! 
if  his  reverence  respects  them  so,  an 
ignorant  brute  like  Jack  Evans  is  n't 
to  look  down  on  them.'  " 

"  Ah !  confess,  too,  that  half-hour 
in  the  jacket  opened  your  eyes,  and  so 
your  heart." 

"  It  did,  sir ;  it  did.  I  was  like  a 
good  many  more  that  misuse  prison- 
ers.    I  did  n't  know  how  cruel  I  was." 

"  You  are  on  my  side,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  on  your  side,  and  I  am 
come  here  mainly  to  speak  my  mind 
to  you.  Sir,  it  goes  to  ray  heart  to 
see  you  lost  and  wasted  in  such  a 
place  as  this." 

"  You  think  I  do  no  good  here  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  sir.  Why,  I  am  a  proof 
the  other  way.  But  you  would  do 
more  good  anywhere  else.  Every- 
body says  you  are  a  bright  and  a  shin- 
ing light,  sir.  Then  why  stay  where 
there  is  dirty  water  thrown  (^er  you 
every  day  1  Besides,  it  is  killing  you ! 
I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  sir,  but 
if  you  could  only  see  how  you  are 
changed  since  you  came  here  —  " 

"  1  do  feel  very  ill." 

"  Of  course  you  do ;  you  are  ill, 
and  you  will  be  worse  if  you  don't 
get  out  of  this  dreadful  place.  If  you 
are  so  fond  of  prisons,  sir,  you  can 
go  from  here  to  another  prison.  There 
IS  more  than  one  easy-going  chaplain 
as  would  be  glad  to  change  with  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "    said    Mr, 


12G 


"IT  IS  ni:vi:r  too  late  to  mend.' 


Kdcn,  faintly   lying  on  his  back  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Not  a  doubt,  of  it.  If  it  warn't 
for  llawes,  you  would  convert  half 
this  prison  ;  but  you  sec  the  governor 
is  against  you,  and  he  is  stronger 
than  you.  So  it  is  no  good  to  go 
wasting  youisolf.  Now,  what  will  be 
the  upshot  ?  VVhy,  you  '11  break  your 
heart  to  begin,  and  lose  your  health  ; 
and,  when  all  is  done,  at  a  word  from 
llawes  the  justices  will  turn  you  out 
of  the  jail,  and  send  me  after  you  for 
taking  your  part?' 

"  What  do  you  advise  1 " 

"  Whv,  cut  it." 

"  Cut' it  ?  " 

"  Turn  your  back  on  the  whole  ig- 
norant lot,  and  save  yourself  for  bet- 
ter things.  VVhy,  you  will  win  many 
a  battle  yet,  your  reverence,  if  you 
don't  fling  yourself  away  this  time," 
said  Evans,  in  tones  of  homely  cheer- 
fulness and  encouragement. 

There  was  a  deal  of  good  sense  in 
the  rough  fellow's  words,  and  a  home- 
ly sympathy  not  intruded  but  rather 
as  it  were  forcing  its  way  against  the 
speaker's  intention.  All  this  co-oper- 
ated powerfully  with  Mr.  Eden's 
present  inclination  and  feeling  as  he 
lay  sick  and  despondent  upon  the 
couch. 

"  So  that  is  really  your  advice  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Eden,  ifeebly  and  regret- 
■fuUy. 

"  Yes,  your  reverence,  that  is  my 
advice." 

Mr.  Eden  rose  in  a  moment  like  an 
elastic  spring,  and  whirled  round  in 
front  of  Evans.  "  And  this  is  my 
answer,  —  Ketko  Satanas  !  "shouted 
he,  witli  two  eyes  flashing  like  a  pair 
of  sabres  in  the  sun. 

"  Mercy  on  us,"  roared  Evans,  re- 
coiling so  hastily  that  he  rolled  over  a 
chair,  "  what  is  that  ?  "  and  he  sat 
upcm  the  floor  a  long  way  off,  with 
eyes  like  saucers,  Mud  repeated  in  a 
whisper,  "  what  i>  that?  " 

"  A  quotation,"  replied  the  other, 
grimly. 

"  A  quotation  !  now  only  think  of 
that,"     said   Evans,   much   relieved. 


"  Sounded  like  cussing  and  swearing 
in  Latin." 

"  Come  here,  my  good  friend,  and 
sit  beside  me." 

Evans  came  gingerly. 

"  Well,  but  ye  must  n't  thunder 
at  me  in  Latin  anv  more." 

"  Well,  I  won't?' 

"  It  is  n't  fair  ;  how  can  I  stand  up 
against  Latin  (  " 

"  Well,  come  here  and  I  '11  have  at 
you  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  Aha  ?  So 
you  come  in  robust  health  and  spirits 
and  tempt  a  poor  broken  sick  creature 
to  mount  the  white  feather;  to  show 
his  soldierly  qualities  by  running  from 
the  foe  to  some  cool  spot  where  there 
are  no  enemies,  and  there  fighting  the 
good  fight  in  peace.  Evans,  you  are 
a  good  creature,  but  you  are  a  poor 
creature.  Yes,  Hawes  is  strong,  yet 
I  will  resist  him.  And  I  am  weak, 
yet  I  will  resist.  He  will  get  the  jus- 
tices on  his  side,  yet  I  will  resist. 
I  am  sick  and  dispirited,  yet  I  will 
resist.  The  representative  of  human- 
ity and  Christianity  in  a  strongliold 
of  darkness  and  cruelty  and  wrong 
must  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake 
with  fear.  I  will  fight  with  pen  and 
hand  and  tongue  against  these  out- 
laws, so  l«ng  as  there  is  a  puff  of 
wind  in  my  body,  and  a  drop  of  in- 
domitable blood  in  my  veins." 

"No  doubt  you  are  game  enougl)," 
mourned  Evans ;  "  I  wish  you  were 
n't." 

"  And  as  for  you,  you  came  here  to 
seduce  a  sick  broken  creature  from 
his  Master's  service ;  you  shall  re- 
main to  be  enlisted  in  it  yourself  in- 
stead." t 

P^-ans  shuffled  uneasily  on  his  chair 
at  these  words  :  "  1  think  I  am  on 
your  side,"  said  he. 

"  Half!  but  it  is  no  use  being  half 
anything  ;  your  hour  is  come  to  choose 
between  all  riLcht  and  all  wrong." 

"  I  would  n't  be  h^ig  choosing  if  it 
warn't  for  one  thing." 

"  And  what  is  that  one  thing  which 
can  outweigh  the  one  thing  needful  ?  " 

"  My  wife  and  my  four  children  ;  if 
I  get  myself  turned  out  of  this  jail, 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


127 


how  am  I  to  find  bread  for  that  small 
lot  ? " 

"  And  do  you  think  shilly-shallying 
between  two  stools  will  secure  your 
scat?  You  have  jrone  too  far  with 
me  to  retract ;  don't  you  see  that  the 
jailer  means  to  get  you  di>imissed  the 
next  time  the  justices  visit  the  jail  for 
business  ?  Can't  you  read  your  fate 
in  the  man's  eye  ?  " 

Evans  groaned.  "  I  read  it,  I  read 
it,  but  I  did  n't  want  to  believe  it." 

"  He  set  a  trap  for  you  half  an  hour 
after  you  had  defended  me." 

"  He  did  !  I  told  my  wife  I  was  a 
gone  coon,  but  she  over-persuaded 
me ;  '  Keep  quiet,*  said  she,  '  and  't 
will  blow  over.'  But  you  see  it  in 
the  same  light  as  I  did,  don't  you, 
sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Eden  smiled  grimly  in  assent. 

"  You  are  a  doomed  man,"  said  he, 
coolly  ;  "  half-  measures  can't  save 
you,  but  whole  measures  may  —  per- 
haps." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  sir?  "  asked 
Evans,  helplessly. 

"  Your  only  chance  is  to  go  heart 
and  hand  with  me  in  the  project  which 
occupies  me  now." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  cried  Fluctuans,  with 
a  sudden  burst  of  resolution,  "  for  I 
am  druv  in  a  corner.  Su  please  tell 
me  what  is  your  project  ?  " 

"  To  get  Mr.  Hawes  dismissed  from 
this  jail." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  had  a  severe  spasm 
whic!i  forced  him  to  lie  back  and  draw 
his  breath  hard.  Evans  uttered  some- 
thing between  a  cry  of  dismay  and  a 
groMU  of  despair,  and  stared  down 
upon  tliis  audacious  invalid  witli  won- 
d"r  and  ire  at  his  supernatural  but 
absurd  cool  courage. 

"  Turn  our  governor  out  of  this 
jaii  ?  Now  hark  to  that ;  you  might 
as  well  try  to  move  a  mountain  ;  and 
look  at  you  lyinn-  there  scarce  able  to 
move  yourself,  and  talking  like  that" 

"  Pour  me  out  a  cup  of  tea,  Mr. 
Faintheart  ;  I  am  in  great  pain,  — 
thank  you." 

He  took  the  cup,  and,  as  he  stirred 


it,  he  said  coolly :  "  Did  you  ever  read 
of  Marshal  Saxe,  Mr.  "^  Faintheart  ? 
He  fought  the  battle  of  Fontenoy  as 
he  lay  a  dying.  He  had  himself  "car- 
ried on  his  be(l  of  death  from  one  part 
of  the  field  to  another ;  at  first  the 
fight  went  against  him,  but  he  spurned 
craven  counsels  with  his  expiring 
heart ;  he  saw  the  enemy's  blunder 
with  his  dying  eye,  and  waved  his 
troops  on  to  victory  with  his  dying 
hand.  This  is  one  of  the  great  feats 
of  earth.  But  the  soldiers  of  Christ 
are  as  stout-hearted  as  any  man  that 
ever  carried  a  marshal's  baton  or  a 
sergeant's  pike.  Yes  !  I  am  ill,  and  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  dying,  Evans;  but 
living  or  dying  I  am  the  Lord's.  I 
will  fight  for  him  to  the  last  gasp,  and 
I  will  thrust  this  malefactor  from  his 
high  office  with  the  last  action  of  my 
hand.  Will  you  help  me,  or  will  you 
not  1  " 

"  I  will,  sir !  I  will !  What  on 
earth  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  can  turn  the  balanced  scale 
and  win  the  day  !  " 

"  Can  I,  sir  i  "  cried  Evans,  greatly 
puzzled. 

"  You  will  find  some  wine  in  that 
cupboard,  my  man ;  fill  yourself  a 
tumbler  ;  I  will  sip  my  tea,  and  ex- 
plain myself.  You  think  this  Hawes 
is  a  mountain;  —  no!  he  is  a  large 
pumpkin  hollow  at  the  core.  You 
think  him  strong;  —  no!  be  but 
seems  so  because  some  of  the  many 
at  whose  mercy  he  is  are  so  weak. 
There  is  a  flaw  in  Hawes,  which  must 
break  him  sooner  or  later.  He  is  a 
felon.  The  law  hangs  over  his  head 
by  a. single  hair  ;  he  has  forfeited  bis 
otfice,  and  will  be  tuined  out  of  it  the 
moment  we  can  find  amon'4  his  many 
superiors  one  man  with  one  grain  ei- 
ther of  honesty  or  intelligence." 

"  But  how  sliall  we  find  that,  sir?" 

"  By  looking  for  it  everywhere, 
till  we  Hnd  it  somewhere.  Mr.  Hawes 
tells  me  in  other  words  that  tlie  vis- 
iting justices  do  not  possess  the  one 
grain  we  require.  I  profit  by  the  in- 
telligence the  enemy  was  weak  enough 
to  give   me,  and  I  go  —  not  to   the 


128 


"IT  IS^jtfEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   :\IEXD. 


visitin^jffiliTOS.'^'^o-morrow,  if  my 
case  is  ready,  I  sciul  a  ineinorial  to 
the  Home  OlHee,  accuse  Hawes  of 
felonious  practices,  and  demand  an 
inquiry." 

Evans's  eye  sparkled  ;  be  bcfjan  to 
gather  strength  from  the  broken  man. 

"  But  now  comes  the  dilHculty. 
A  man  should  never  strike  a  feeble 
l)l()w.  My  appeal  will  be  read  by 
half-educated  clerks.  If  I  don't  ad- 
vance something  that  the  small  official 
mind  can  take  in,  I  shall  never  reach 
the  heads  of  the  office.  It  would  Ijc 
mailntss  to  bej^in  by  attacking  na- 
tional ])rejudices,  by  combating  a  no- 
tion so  stupid,  and  thi-rcfore  so  deep- 
rooted,  as  that  prisoners  have  no  legal 
rights.  No  !  the  pivot  of  my  assault 
must  be  somethnig  that  a  boy  can  af- 
ford to  be  able  to  comprehend  for 
eighty  pounds  a  year  and  a  clerk's 
desk  in  a  government  office.  Now 
Mr.  Hawes  has,  for  many  months 
past,  furnished  false  reports  to  the 
justices  and  to  the  Home  Office, 
ilere  is  the  true  step[)ing-stonc  to  an 
inquiry,  here  is  the  fact  to  tell  on  the 
official  mind;  for  the  man's  cruelty 
and  felonious  practices  are  only  of- 
fences against  God  and  the  law  ;  but 
a  false  report  is  an  oflfcnce  against 
the  office.  And  here  I  need  your 
help.'^ 

"  You  shall  have  it,  sir." 

"  I  want  to  be  al)le  to  prove  this 
man's  reports  to  be  lies  ;  I  think  such 
a  proof  exists,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  very 
thoughtfully  ;  "  now,  if  it  docs,  you 
alone  can  get  hold  of  it  for  me.  One 
of  the  turnkeys  notes  down  every 
punishment  of  a  prisoner  in  a  small 
])Ock('t-b()ok,  for  I  have  seen  him." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Fry  does,  — never  miss- 
es !  " 

"  What  becomes  of  those  notes  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  if  he  keeps  a  book  and 
enters  everything  in  it  ?  " 

"  But,  if  he  had,  should  n't  we  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it  ^  " 

"  Humph  !  A  man  docs  not  take 
notes  constamly  and  destroy  them. 
Fry  too  is  an  enthusiast  in  -bis  way  ; 


I  am  sure  he  keeps  a  record,  and  if 
he  does  it  is  a  true  one,  for  he  has  no 
ol)ject  in  tampering  wiih  his  own 
facts.  Bring  me  such  a  l)ook.  or  any 
record  ke])t  by  Fry ;  let  me  have  it 
for  twelve  hoius  and  Hawcs  shall  be 
turned  out  of  the  jail  and  you  stay 
in  it." 

"  Sir  !  "  cried  Evans,  in  great  ex- 
citement, "  if  there  is  such  a  thing 
you  shall  see  it  to-morrow  morning." 

"No!  to-night!  come,  you  have  an 
hour  before  you.  Do  you  want  the 
sinews  of  war  ?  here,  take  this  live 
])Ounds  with  you  ;  you  may  have  to 
l)uy  a  sight  of  it  ;  but  if  you  ask  him 
whether  I  am  right  in  telling  you  it  is 
not  the  custom  of  jails  to  crucify  pris- 
oners in  the  jjrescnt  century,  ])erhaps 
the  barbarian  will  jjruduce  his  record 
of  abuses  to  prove  to  you  that  it  is. 
Work  how  you  please  ;  but  be  wary, 
be  intelligent,  and  bring  me  Fry's  ledg- 
er, or  never  look  me  in  the  face  aiiain." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  Evans 
strode  out  of  the  room  animated  with 
a  spirit  not  his  own.  lie  who  had 
animated  him  lay  back  on  the  sofa 
prostrated.  Half  an  hour  elapsed,  no 
Evans  ;  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more, 
still  no  Evans;  l)ut  just  before  the 
hour  sti  uek,  in  he  burst,  out  of  breath, 
but  red  with  triumph. 

"  Your  reverence  is  a  witch,  — you 
can  see  in  the  dark,  — look  here,  sir!  " 
and  he  flung  a  dirty  ledger  on  the  ta- 
ble. "  Here  's  all  the  money,  sir. 
He  did  not  get  a  farthing  of  it. 
I  flattered  the  creature's  pride,  and 
he  dropped  the  cheese  into  my  hand 
like  the  old  carrion  crow  when  they 
asked  him  for  one  of  his  charming 
songs.  But  he  had  no  notion  it  was 
going  out  of  the  jail  ;  so  you  '11  bring 
it  in  and  give  it  me  back  the  first 
thing  to-morrow,  sir.  I  must  run 
back,  time's  up!  Good  night,  your 
reverence.  Am  I  on  your  side,  or 
whose  7  " 

"  Good  night,  my  fine  fellow  ;  you 
sha'  n't  l)e  turned  out  of  the  jail  now. 
Gooil  night." 

He  wanted  him  gone.  He  went  to  a 
drawer  and  took  out  his  own  bookj  a 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LAT 


copyof  Ha  wes's  public  loo;-book,  which 
he  had  made  as  soon  as  he  came  into 
the  jail, witli  the  simple  view  of  guiding 
himself  by  the  respectable  ))recedents 
he  innocently  expected  to  find  there. 
He  lighted  candles,  placed  his  sheets 
by  the  side  of  Try's  well-thumbed 
ledger,  and  plunged  into  a  compari- 
son. 

It  was  as  he  expected.  On  one 
side  lay  the  bare,  simple  brutal  truth 
in  Fry's  hand,  on  the  other  the  same 
set  of  facts  colored,  moulded,  and 
cooked  in  every  imaginable  way  to 
bear  inspection,  with  occasional  sup- 
pressions where  the  deed  and  conse- 
quences were  too  fiightful  to  bear  col- 
oring, moulding,  extenuating,  or  cook- 
ing. 

The  book  was  a  thick  quarto,  con- 
taining a  strict  record  of  the  prison 
for  four  years  ;  two  years  of  Captain 
O'Connor,  and  two  of  Hawes,  the 
worthy  who  had  supplanted  him. 

Mr.  Eden  was  a  rapid  penman  ;  he 
set  to,  and  by  half  past  eleven  o'clock 
he  had  copied  the  first  part ;  for  under 
O'Connor  there  were  comparatively 
few  punishments.  Then  he  attacked 
Hawes's  reign.  Sheet  after  sheet  was 
filled  and  numbered.  He  threw  them 
on  another  table,  as  each  was  filled. 
Three  o'clock  ;  still  he  wrote  with  all 
his  might.  Four  o'clock ;  black 
spots  danced  before  his  eyes,  and  his 
fingers  ached,  and  his  brow  burned, 
and  his  feet  were  ice.  Still  the  light, 
indefatigable  pen  galloped  along  the 
paper.  Meantime  the  writer's  feelings 
were  of  the  most  mixed  and  extraor- 
dinary character.  Often  his  eye 
flashed  with  triumph,  as  Fry  exposed 
the  dishonesty  and  utter  mendacity  of 
Hawes.  Oftener  still  it  dilated  with 
horror  at  the  frightful  nature  of  the 
very  revelations.  At  six  o'clock  Fry's 
record  was  all  copied  out. 

Mr.  Eden  shaved  and  took  his  bath, 
and  ran  into  the  town.  He  knocked 
up  a  solicitor,  with  whom  he  was  ac- 
quainted. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  my  will,  while 
your  son  attests  this  copy  of  this 
ledger." 

6* 


"But  my: 

"  Well,  he  can  read  in  bed.  "Which 
is  his  room  ?  " 

"That  one?"  —  Rap!    (Come  in.) 

"  Here,  Mr.  Edward,  compare  these 
two,  and  correct  or  attest  this  as  a 
true  copy.  Twenty  minutes'  work, 
two  guineas ;  here  they  are  on  your 
drawers  "  ;  and  he  chucked  the  docu- 
ments on  the  bed,  opened  the  shut- 
ters, and  drew  the  bed-curtains  ;  and, 
passing  his  arm  under  the  father's,  he 
drew  him  into  his  own  office  ;  opened 
the  shutters,  put  paper  before  him, 
and  dictated  a  will.  Three  bequests 
(one  to  Evans),  and  his  mother  re- 
siduary legatee.  The  will  written, 
he  ran  up  stairs,  made  father  and  son 
execute  it,  and  then  darted  out,  caught 
a  fly  that  was  going  to  the  railway, 
engaged  it ;  up  stairs  again.  The  work 
was  done,  copy  attested. 

"  Half  a  crown,  if  you  are  at  the 
jail  in  five  minutes." 

Galloped  off  with  his  two  docu- 
ments, entered  the  jail,  went  to  his 
own  room,  sent  for  Evans,  gave  him 
Fry's  book,  and  ordered  himself  the 
same  breakfast  the  prisoners  had. 

"  I  am  bilious,  and  no  wonder.  I 
have  been  living  too  luxuriously ; 
if  I  had  been  content  with  the  diet 
my  poor  brothers  live  on,  I  sbjuld  be 
in  better  health ;  it  serves  me  just 
right." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
short  memorial  to  the  Secretary  for 
the  Home  Department,  claiming  au 
inquiry  into  the  jailer's  conduct. 

"  I  have  evidence  on  the  spot  to 
show  that  for  two  years  he  has  been, 
guilty  of  illegal  practices.  That  he 
has  introduced  into  the  prison  an 
unlawful  instrument  of  torture  ;  that 
during  his  whole  period  of  office 
he  has  fabricated  partial,  colored,  and 
false  reports  of  his  actions  in  the 
prison,  and  also  of  their  conse- 
quences ;  that  he  has  suppressed  all 
mention  of  no  less  than  seven  at- 
tempts at  suicide,  and  has  given  a 
false  color,  both  with  respect  to  the 
place  of  death,  the  manner  of  death, 
and   the   causes   of  death,   of   some 


100 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


twenty  prisoners  besides ;  that  his 
d:iy-hook,  kept  in  the  prison  for  the 
inspection  and  ^uide  of  the  ma<,^is- 
trates,  is  a  tissue  of  frauds,  equivo- 
cations, exa.u-;xerations,  diminutions, 
and  direct  falsehoods ;  that  his  pe- 
riodical reports  to  the  Home  Office 
are  a  tissue  of  the  same  frauds,  sup- 
pressions, inventions,  and  dii'cct  false- 
hoods, 

"  The  truth,  therefore,  is  inacces- 
sible to  you,  except  by  a  severe  in- 
quiry, conducted  on  the  spot.  That 
inquiry  I  pray  for  on  public  grounds, 
and,  if  need  be,  demand  in  my  own 
person,  as  her  Majesty's  servant, 
driven   to  this  strait. 

"  I  am  responsible  to  her  Majesty 
for  the  lives  and  well-being  of  the 
prisoners,  and  yet  unable,  without 
your  intervention,  to  protect  them 
against  illegal  violence,  covered  by 
organized  fraud." 

Mr.  Eden  copied  this,  and  sent  the 
copy  at  once  to  Mr.  Ilawes,  with 
two  lines,  to  this  effect,  that  the 
duplicate  should  not  leave  the  tox\n 
till  seven  in  the  evening,  so  Mr. 
Ilawes  had  plenty  of  time  to  write  to 
the  Home  Secretary  by  same  post,  and 
parry  or  meet  this  blow,  if  he  thought 
it  worth  his  while. 

It  now  remained  only  to  post  the 
duplicate  for  the  Home  Office.  Mr. 
lOden  directed  it  and  waxed  it,  but  even 
as  lie  leaned  over  it,  sealing  it,  the 
room  became  suddenly  dark  to  him, 
and  his  head  seemed  to  weigh  a  ton. 
"With  an  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
he  made  for  the  sofa,  wliii-ii  was  close 
behind  him,  but  before  he  could  re.ich 
it  his  senses  had  left  him,  and  he  fell 
with  his  head  and  shoulders  upon  the 
couch,  but  his  feet  on  the  floor,  the 
memorial  tiglit  in  his  hand.  He  pai«l 
the  pi'ualty  of  being  a  blood-horse,  he 
ran  till  he  dropped. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

''Two  ladies  to  see  you."  grunted 
the  red-haired  servant,  throwing  open 


the  door  without  ceremony  ;  and  she 
actually  bounced  out  again  without 
seeing  anything  more  than  that  her 
master  was  lying  on  the  sofa. 

Susan  Merton  and  her  aunt  came 
rapidly  and  cheerfully  into  tlic  room. 

"  Here  we  are,  Mr.  Eden,  Aunt  Da- 
vies  and  I  — Oh  !  "  The  table  being 
between  the  sofa  and  the  door,  the 
poor  gentleman's  actual  condition 
was  not  self-evident  from  the  latter, 
but  Susan  was  now  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  her  gayety  gave  Avay  in 
a  moment  to  terror.  ' 

"  Why.  the  man  has  fainted  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Davies,  hurriedly.  Susan  clasped 
her  hands  together,  and  turned  very 
pale  ;  but  for  all  that  she  was  the 
first  at  Mr.  Eden's  liead ;  "  He  is 
choking !  he  is  choking !  help  me, 
aunt,  help  me  !  "  but,  even  while  cry- 
ing for  help,  her  nimble  fingers  had 
untied  and  flung  away  Mr.  Eden's 
white  necktie,  which,  being  high  and 
stiff,  was  doing  him  a  very  ill  turn,  as 
the  air  forcing  itself  violently  through 
his  nostrils  plainly  showed. 

"  Take  his  legs,  aunt ;  oh  !  oh  ! 
oh!" 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  girl,  it  is  only  a 
f*int." 

Susan  flew  to  the  window  and 
t|irew  it  open,  then  flew  back  and 
^ized  one  eiul  of  the  couch.  Her 
jlunt  comprehended  at  a  glance,  and 
<the  two  carried  it  with  its  burden  to 
'the  window. 

"  Open  the  door,  aunt,"  cried  Su- 
san, as  she  whipped  out  her  scent- 
bottle,  and  with  her  finger  wetted  the 
inside  of  his  nostrils  with  the  spirit 
as  the  patient  lay  in  the  thorough 
draught.  Susan  sobbed  with  sorrow 
and  fear,  })ut  her  emotion  was  far 
from  disabling  her. 

She  poured  some  of  her  scent  into 
a  water-glass,  and  diluted  it  largely. 
She  made  her  aunt  take  a  hand-screen 
from  the  mantel-piece.  She  plungid 
her  hand  into  tlie  liquid  atid  flimg  the 
droj)S  sharply  into  -Mr.  Ivleti's  face  ; 
and  Mrs.  Davies  fanned  him  rapidly 
at  the  same  time. 

Tliese  remedies  had  a  speedy  effect ; 


"  IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


131 


first  the  film  cleared  from  the  patient's 
bri;2:ht  eye,  then  a  little  color  diffused 
itself  gradually  over  his  cheek,  and 
last  his  lips  lost  tlieir  livid  tint.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  hitn  coming  to,  Susan 
composed  herself;  and  Mr.  Eden,  on 
his  return  to  consciousness,  looked 
up  and  saw  a  beautiful  young  woman 
looking  down  on  him  with  a  cheerful 
encouraging  smile  and  wet  cheeks. 

"Ah!"  sighed  he,  and  put  out 
his  hand  faintly  to  welcome  Susan, 
*'  but  what  —  how  do  I  come  here  1  " 

"  You  have  been  a  little  faint,"  said 
Susan,  smiling,  "  but  you  are  better 
now,  you  know  ! " 

''  Yes,  thank  you  !  how  good  of 
you  to  come  !     Wiio  is  this  lady  ?  " 

"My  aunt,  sir, — a  very  notable 
woman.  See,  she  is  setting  your 
things  to  rights  already.  Aunt,  I 
wonder  at  you  !  " 

She  then  dipped  the  corner  of  her 
handkerchief  in  scent,  and,  slightly 
coloring  now  that  her  patient  was  con- 
scious, she  made  the  spirit  enter  his 
nostrils. 

He  <rave  a  sign  of  languid  pleasure, 
—  "That  is  so  invigorating."  Then 
he  looked  upward.  "  Sec  how  good 
God  is  to  me  !  ia  my  sore  need  he 
has  sent  me  help.  0,  how  pleasant 
is  the  face  of  a  friend.  By  the  way, 
I  took  you  for  an  angel  at  first," 
added  he,  naively. 

"  But  you  have  come  to  your 
senses  now,  sir  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  cried 
busy,  merry  Mrs.  Davies,  hard  at 
work.  For,  as  soon  as  the  patient 
began  visibly  to  return  to  life,  she  had 
turned  her  back  on  him  and  fallen  on 
the  furniture. 

"  I  hope  you  are  come  to  stay  with 
me." 

As  Susan  was  about  to  answer  in 
the  negative,  Mrs.  Davies  made 
signals  for  a  private  conference  ;  and, 
after  some  whisperinir,  Susan  replied, 
"  that  her  aunt  wanted  to  pnt  the 
house  in  apple-pie  order,  and  that  she, 
Sus  m,  felt  too  anxious  about  him  to 
go  until  he  should  be  quite  recovered." 

"  In  that  case,  ladies,"  said  he,  "  I 
consecrate  to  you  my  entire  second 


floor,  three  rooms  "  ;  and  he  rang  the 
bell  and  »aid  to  the  servant.  "  Take 
your  orders  from  these  ladies,  and 
show  them  the  second  floor." 

While  his  visitors  were  examining 
their  apartments,  Mr.  Eden  sought  a 
little  rest,  and  had  no  sooner  dropped 
upon  his  bed  than  sleep  came  to  his 
relief. 

He  slept  for  nearly  four  hours  ;  at 
first  soundly,  then  dozing  and  dream- 
ing. While  he  slept  a  piisoner  sent 
for  him,  but  Susan  would  not  have 
him  awakened  for  that. 

By  and  by  Susan  went  into  the 
town  leaving  her  aunt  sole  guardian. 

"  Now,  aunt,"  said  she,  "  don't 
let  him  be  disturbed  whoever  comes 
for  him.  It  is  as  much  as  his  life  is 
worth  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't !  there." 

Susan  had  not  been  long  gone 
when  a  turnkey  called,  and  was  shown 
into  the  parlor  where  Mrs.  Davies 
was  very  busy.  He  looked  about 
him  and  told  her  he  had  called  for  a 
book  Mr.  Eden  promised  him. 

"  Mr.  Eden  is  asleep." 

"  Asleep  at  this  time  of  day  ?  "  said 
the  man,  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  asleep,"  answered  Mrs. 
Davies,  sharply ;  "  is  he  never  to 
have  any  sleep?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  will  tell  him 
Mr.  Fry  has  come  for  the  book  as 
requested." 

"  Could  n't  think  of  disturbing  him 
for  that,  Mr.  Fry,"  replied  Mrs. 
Davies,  not  intermitting  her  work  for 
a  single  moment. 

"  Very  well,  ma'am ! "  said  Mr. 
Fry,  in  dudgeon  ;  "  I  never  was 
here  before,  and  I  sha'  n't  ever  come 
agin  —  that  is  all,"  —  and  off"  he 
went. 

Mrs.  Davies  showed  her  dismay  at 
this  threat  by  dusting  on  without  onco 
taking  her  eye  or  her  mind  off  her  job. 

It  was  eight  o'clock.  Mr.  Eden 
woke  and  found  it  almost  dark. 

He  rose  immediately.  "  Why,  I  have 
slept  the  day  away,"  thought  he,  in 
dismay  :  "  and  my  memorial  to  the 
Home  Office  ;  it  is  past  post-time,  and 


132 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


I  have  not  sent  it."  He  came  hastily 
down  stairs  and  entered  the  parlor  ; 
lie  tbnnd  it  in  a  frij^htfnl  state.  All 
the  chairs  were  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  every  part  of  which  was  choked 
up  except  a  pathway  three  feet  hioad 
that  ran  by  the  side  of  tlie  wall  all 
round  it.  From  this  path  all  access 
into  the  interior  was  blocked  by  the 
furniture,  which  now  stood  upon  an 
area  frijjlitfuUy  diminished  by  this 
loss  of  three  leet  taken  from  each 
■wall.  ]Mrs.  Davies  was  a  character, 
—  a  notal)le  woman.  Mr.  Eden's 
heart  sank  at  the  sight. 

To  find  himself  put  to  rights  gives 
a  bachelor  an  innocent  pleasure,  but 
tlie  preliminary  process  of  being  put 
entirely  to  wrongs  crushes  his  soul. 
"  Another  fanatic  let  loose  on  me," 
thought  he,  "  and  my  room  is  like  a 
road  that  is  just  mended,  as  they  call 
it."  He  peered  about  here  and  there 
through  a  grove  of  chairs  whose  legs 
■were  kicking  in  the  air  as  they  sat 
bosom  downwards  upon  their  breth- 
ren, but  he  could  see  no  memorial. 
He  rang  the  bell  and  inquired  of  the 
servant  whether  she  had  seen  it. 
While  he  was  describing  it  to  her, 
Mrs.  Davies  broke  in. 

"  I  saw  it  —  I  picked  it  up  off  the 
floor  —  it  was  lying  between  the  sofa 
and  the  table." 

"  And  what  did  you  do  with  it  ?  " 
"  Why,  dusted  it,  to  be  sure." 
"  But  where  did  you  put  it  ?  " 
"  On  the  table,  1  suppose." 
Another  search  and  no  memorial. 
"  ISomebody  has  taken  it." 
"  But  who  ?    has  anybody  been  in 
this  roorti  since  ?  " 

"  Plenty.  You  don't  get  much 
peace  here  I  should  say ;  but  Susan 
gave  the  order  you  were  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed." 

"  This  won't  do,"  thought  Mr. 
Eden. 

"  Who  has  been  here?  "  said  he  to 
the  servant. 

"  Mr.  Fry  is  the  only  one  that  came 
into  this  room." 

"  Mr.  Fry  !  "  said  Mr.  Eden,  with 
some  surprise. 


"  Ay  !  ay  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Davies. 
"  I  remember  now  there  was  an  ill- 
looking  fellow  of  that  name  here  talk- 
ing to  me  pretending  you  had  }irom- 
ised  him  a  book." 

"  But  I  did  promise  him  a  book." 

"  O,  you  did;  did  you?  well,  he 
looked  like  a  thief,  perhaps  be  has  — 
Goodness  gracious  me,  I  hope  there 
was  no  money  in  it  "  ;  and  Mrs.  Davies 
lost  her  ruddy  color  in  a  moment. 

"No  !  no  !  it  was  only  a  letter,  but 
of  great  importance." 

Another  violent  search  at  the  risk 
of  shins  and  hands. 

"  That  Fry  has  taken  it.  I  never 
saw  such  a  hangdog-looking  fellow." 

Mr.  Eden  was  much  vexed  ;  but 
he  had  a  trick  of  blaming  himself. 
Heaven  only  knows  where  he  caught 
it.  "  My  own  forgetfulness  ;  even  if 
the  paper  had  not  been  lost  I  had  al- 
lowed post-time  to  go  by,  and  Mr. 
Hawes  will  anticijjate  me  with  the 
Home  Secretary."     He  sighed. 

In  so  severe  a  struggle  he  was  al- 
most as  reluctant  to  give  an  unfair 
advantage  as  to  take  one. 

He  ordered  a  lire  in  his  little  back 
parlor  ;  and  with  a  sigh  sat  down  to 
rewrite  his  memorial  and  to  try  and 
recover  if  he  could  the  exact  words, 
and  save  the  next  post  that  left  in  the 
morning. 

As  Mr.  Eden  sat  trying  to  recover 
the  words  of  his  memorial,  Hawes  was 
seated  in  Mr.  Williams's  study  at 
Ashtown  Park,  concerting  with  that 
worthy  magistrate   the    best    way   of 

turning  the  new  chaplain  out  of 

Jail.  He  found  no  difficulty.  Mr. 
Williams  had  two  very  strong  preju- 
dices, —  one  in  favor  oi"  Hawes  ])erson- 
ally,  the  other  in  favor  of  tlie  system 
pursued  this  two  years  in  that  jail. 
Egotism  was  here  too,  and  rendered 
these  prejudices  almost  imjiregnable. 
Williams  had  turned  out  O'Connor 
and  his  milder  svstem,  and  put  in 
Hawes  and  his  more  rigorous  one. 
Hawes  was  "my  man  —  his  system 
mine." 

He  told  his  story,  and  Williams 
burned  to  avenge  his  injured  friend. 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


133 


whose  patron  and  director  he  called 
himself,  and  whose  tool  he  was. 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  until  the 
25th,  when  Palmer  returns.  We 
must  be  all  there  for  an  act  of  this 
importance.  Do  jour  duty  as  you 
always  have,  carry  out  the  discipline, 
and  send  for  me  if  he  gives  you  any 
great  annoyance  in  the  mean  time." 

That  zealous  servant  of  her  Ma- 
jesty, earnest  Mr.  Hawes,  had  never 
taken  a  day's  holiday  before.  No 
man  could  accuse  him  of  indolence, 
carelessness,  or  faint  discharge  of  the 
task  he  had  appointed  himself.  He 
perverted  his  duties  too  much  to 
neglect  them.  He  had  been  reluc- 
tant to  leave  the  prison  on  a  per- 
sonal affair.  The  drive,  however, 
was  pleasant,  and  he  returned  fresh- 
ened and  animated  by  assurances  of 
support  from  the  magistrate. 

As  he  strode  across  the  prison  yard 
to  inspect  everything  before  going  to 
his  house,  he  felt  invulnerable,  and 
sneered  at  himself  for  the  momentary 
uneasiness  he  had  let  a  crack  brained 
parson  give  him.  He  went  home ; 
there  was  a  nice  fire,  a  clean-swept 
hearth,  a  glittering  brass  kettle  on 
the  iiob  for  making  toddy,  and  three 
different  kinds  of  spirits  in  huge 
cruets.  For  system  reigned  in  the 
house  as  well  as  the  jail,  with  this 
diff"erence,  that  the  house  system  was 
devoted  to  making  self  comfortable, 
—  the  jail  system  to  making  others 
wretched. 

He  rang  the  bell.  In  came  the 
servant  with  slippers,  and  candles  un- 
lighted,  for  he  was  wont  to  sip  his 
grog  by  fire-light.  He  put  on  his 
slippers.  Then  he  mixed  his  grog. 
Then  he  noticed  a  paper  on  the  table, 
and,  putting  it  to  the  fire,  he  found  it 
was  sealed.  So  he  lighted  the  candles, 
and  placed  them  a  little  behind  him. 
Tiien  he  stirred  his  grog  and  sipped 
it,  and,  placing  it  close  beside  him, 
leaned  back  with  a  grunt  of  satisfac- 
tion, opened  the  paper,  read  it  first 
slowly,  then  all  in  a  flutter,  started 
up  as  if  he  was  going  to  act  upon 
some  impulse,  but  the  next  moment 


sat  down  again  and  stared  wildly, — 
a  picture  of  stupid  consternation. 

Meantime  as  Mr.  Eden,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  was  writing  himself  out, 
—  nauseous  task,  —  Susan  stood  be- 
fore him  with  a  color  like  a  rose. 
She  was  in  a  brown  cloak,  from  under 
which  she  took  out  a  basket  brimful 
of  little  packages,  some  in  blue,  some 
in  white  paper. 

"  These  are  grits,"  said  she,  "  and 
these  are  aiTowroot." 

"  I  know,  —  one  of  the  phases  of 
the  potato." 

"  O,  for  shame,  Mr.  Eden  !  Well, 
I  never !  And  I  posted  your  letter, 
sir." 

"  What  letter 7  what  letter?" 

"  The  long  one.  I  found  it  on  the 
table." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  posted  that 
letter  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  it  was  to  go, — was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  to  go ;  but  it  was 
wonderfully  intelligent  of  you." 

"  La !  Mr.  Eden,  don't  talk  so ; 
you  make  me  ashamed.  Why,  tliere 
was  *  immediate '  written  on  it  in 
your  own  hand.  Was  I  to  wake  you 
up  to  ask  whether  that  meant  it  was 
to  stay  here  immediate  or  go  to  Lon- 
don immediate  ?  "  Then  she  pon- 
dered a  moment.  "  He  thinks  I  am 
a  fool,"  said  she,  in  quiet  explana- 
tion, without  a  shade  of  surprise  or 
anger. 

"  Well,  Susan,  my  dear  friend,  you 
don't  know  what  a  service  you  have 
done  me ! " 

Susan  glittered  with  pleasure. 

"  There  !  "  cried  he,  "  you  have 
spared  me  this  most  unpleasant 
task";  and  he  flung  his  unfinished 
papers  into  a  basket.  Mr.  Eden  con- 
gratulated himself  in  his  way,  i.  e. 
thanked  Heaven  Susan  had  com3 
there  ;  the  next  thing  was,  he  had  a 
twinge  of  conscience.  "  I  half  sus- 
pected Fry  of  taking  it  in  the  interest 
of  Hawes  his  friend.  Poor  Fry,  who 
is  a  brute,  but  as  honest  a  man  as  my- 
self every  bit.  He  shall  have  his 
book  at  all  events.  I  'II  put  his  namo 
on  it  that  I  may  n't  for<;et  it  again." 


lA 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEXD.' 


Mr.  Eden  took  the  book  from  its 
shelf,  wrapped  it  in  paper,  and  wrote 
on  the  cover,  "  P'or  Mr.  Fry,  from  F. 
Eden."  As  the  incidents  of  the  day 
are  ended,  I  may  as  well  relate  what 
this  book  was,  and  how  Fry  came 
to  ask  for  it. 

The  book  was  "Uncle  Tom,"  a 
story  which  discusses  the  larj;est  hu- 
man topic  that  ever  can  arise  :  for 
the  human  race  is  bisected  into  black 
and  white.  Nowadays  a  huge  sub- 
ject greatly  treated  receives  justice 
from  the  public,  and  "  Uncle  Tom"  is 
•written  in  many  places  with  art,  in  all 
with  red  ink  and  with  the  biceps  mus- 
cle. 

Great  by  theme,  and  great  by  skill, 
and  greater  by  a  writer's  soul  hon- 
estly flung  into  its  pages,  "  Uncle 
Tom,"  to  the  surprise  of  many  that 
twaddle  traditional  phrases  in  reviews 
and  magazines  about  the  art  of  fiction, 
and  to  the  surprise  of  no  man  who 
knows  anythinji:  about  the  art  of  fic- 
tion, was  all  the  rage.  Not  to  have 
read  it  was  like  not  to  have  read 
"  The  Times"  for  a  week. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  crucifixion 
of  a  ])risoner,  Mr.  Eden  had  said  bit- 
terlv  to  Frv  :  "  Have  vou  read  '  Un- 
cle Tom '  ?■ " 

"  No  !  "  would  Fry  grunt. 

But  one  day  that  the  question  was 
put  to  him,  he  asked  with  some  ap- 
pearance of  interest :  "  Who  is  Uncle 
Tom  ? " 

Then  Mr.  Eden  began  to  reflect. 
*'  Who  knows  ?  The  cases  are  in  a 
great  measure  parallel.  Prisoners 
are  a  tabooed  class  in  England  as  are 
blacks  in  some  few  of  the  United 
States.  The  lady  writes  better  than 
I  can  talk.  If  she  once  seizes  his 
sympathies  by  the  wonderful  power 
of  ficticm,  she  will  touch  his  con- 
science through  his  heart.  This  dis- 
ciple of  JA-grfc  i>i  fortified  against  me  ; 
Mrs.  tjtowe  may  take  him  off  his 
guard.  He  said  slyly  to  Fry  :  '  N(»t 
know  Uncle  Tom  !  Why,  it  is  a 
most  interesting  story,  —  a  charming 
story.  There  are  things  in  it,  too, 
that  meet  your  case.' " 


"Indeed,  sir." 

"  It  is  a  book  you  will  like.  Shall 
I  lend  it  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  sir.  Nights  are 
drawing  in  now," 

"  I  will,  then." 

And  he  would  ;  but  that  frightful 
malady,  jaundiee,  amongst  its  other 
feats,  impairs  the  patient's  memory  : 
and  he  forgot  all  about  it.  So  Fry, 
whose  curiosity  was  at  last  excited, 
came  for  the  book.    The  rest  we  know. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Mr.  Hawes  went  about  the  prison 
next  day  morose  and  melancholy. 
He  spoke  to  no  one,  and  snapped 
those  who  spoke  to  him.  He  pun- 
ished no  })risoner  all  day,  but  he 
looked  at  them  as  a  wolf  at  fortified 
sheep.  .  He  did  not  know  what  to  do 
to  avert  the  blow  he  had  drawn  so 
perseveringly  on  his  own  head.  At 
one  time  he  thought  of  writing  to  the 
Home  Office  and  aspersing  his  accus- 
er; then  he  rigrettid  his  visit  to  Ash- 
town  Park.  "  What  an  unlucky  dog 
I  am  !  I  go  to  see  a  man  that  I  was 
sure  of  l)efore  I  went,  and  while  I  am 

gone  the  parson  steals  a  march 

on  me.  He  will  beat  me  !  If  I  had  n't 
been  a  fool  I  should  have  seen  what 
a  dangerous  devil  he  is.  No  putting 
him  out  of  temj)er!  —  and  no  ])utting 
him  out  of  heart!  He  Avill  bt-at  me! 
The  zealous  services  of  so  many  years 
won't  save  me  with  an  un;;rateful 
government.  I  shall  lose  my  sti- 
pend ! " 

For  a  while  even  stout-hearted,  ear- 
nest Mr.  Hawes  was  dcpressul  with 
gloom  and  bitter  foreboditig ;  but  he 
had  a  resource  in  trouble  ;iood  Mr. 
Eden  in  similar  case  had  not. 

In  the  despondency  of  his  soul  he 
turned  —  to  gkog. 

Under  the  inspiration  of  that  deity 
he  prt'i)ared  lor  a  dogged  defence. 
He  would  punish  no  more  prisoners 
let  them  do  what  they  might,  and 
then  if  an  inquiry  should  take  place 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


135 


he  would  be  in  case  to  show  that  by 
liis  past  severities  he  had  at  last 
brouiilit  his  patients  to  such  perfec- 
tion that  weeks  had  elapsed  without  a 
single  punishment.  With  this  and 
tlie  justites'  good  word  he  would 
Aveather  the  storm  yet. 

Thus  passed  three  days  without  one 
of  those  assaults  on  prisoners  he  called 
punishment ;  but  this  enforced  for- 
bearance made  him  hate  his  victims. 
He  swore  at  them,  he  threatened 
them  all  round,  and  with  deep  malice 
he  gave  open  orders  to  punish  which 
he  secretly  countermanded,  so  that  in 
fact  he  did  punish,  for  blows  suspend- 
ed over  the  head  fall  upon  the  soul. 
Thus  he  made  his  prisoners  share  his 
gloom.  He  was  unhappy  ;  he  was 
dull ;  robbed  of  an  excitement  which 
had  become  butter  to  his  daily  bread. 

All  prison  life  is  dull.  Chaplain,  turn- 
keys, jailers,  all  who  live  in  prisons  are 
prisoners.  Barren  of  mental  resources, 
too  stupid  to  see,  far  less  read,  the  vast 
romance  that  lay  all  round  him,  every 
ceil  a  volume  ;  too  mimlless  to  com- 
prehend his  own  grand  situation  on  a 
salient  of  the  state  and  of  human  na- 
ture, and  to  discern  the  sacred  and 
endless  pleasures  to  be  gathered  there, 
this  unhappy  dOlt,  flung  into  a  lofty 
situation  by  shallow  blockheads,  who, 
like  himself,  saw  in  a  jail  nothing 
greater  nor  more  than  a  "place  of 
punishment,"  must  still,  like  his  pris- 
oners and  the  rest  of  us,  have  some 
excitement  to  keep  him  from  going 
dead.  What  more  natural  than  that 
such  a  nature  should  find  its  excite- 
ment in  tormenting,  and  that  by  de- 
grees this  excitement  should  become 
first  a  habit  then  a  need  1  Growth  is 
the  nature  of  habit,  not  of  one  sort  or 
another  but  of  all,  —  even  of  an  un- 
natural habit.  Gin  grows  on  a  man, 
—  charity  grows  on  a  man, — tobacco 
grows  on  a  man,  —  blood  grows  on  a 
man. 

At  a  period  of  the  reign  of  terror 
the  Parisians  got  to  find  a  day  weary 
without  the  guillotine.  If  by  some 
immense  fortuity  there  came  a  day 
when  they  were  not   sprinkled  with 


innocent  blood  the  poor  souls  s'ennui/- 
(lient.  This  was  not  so  much  thirst  for 
any  particular  liquid  as  tiie  habit  of 
excitement.  Some  months  before,  dan- 
cing, theatres,  boulevard,  etc.  would 
have  made  shift  to  amuse  these  same 
hearts,  as  they  did  some  months  alter, 
when  the  red  habit  was  worn  out. 
Torture  had  grown  upon  stujiid  ear- 
nest Hawes ;  it  seasoned  that  white 
of  egg,  a  mindless  existence.  • 

Oh  !  how  dull  he  felt  these  three 
deplorable  days,  barren  of  groans, 
and  white  faces,  and  livid  lips,  and 
fellow-creatures  shamming,*  and  the 
bucket. 

Mr.  Hawes  had  given  a  sulky  order 
that  the  infirmary  should  be  prepared 
for  the  sick,  and  now  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  the  surgeon  had  met 
him  there  by  appointment. 

"  Will  they  get  well  any  quicker 
here  "?  "  asked  Hawes,  ironically. 

"  Why,  certainly,"  replied  the  oth- 
er. 

Hawes  gave  a  dissatisfied  grunt. 

"  I  hate  moving  prisoneis out  of  the 
cells  ;  but  I  suppose  I  shall  get  you 
into  trouble  if  I  don't." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  other,  with  an 
inquiring  air  ;  "  how  ?  " 

"  Parson  threatens  you  very  hard 
for  letting  the  sick  ones  lie  in  their 
cells,"  said  Hawes,  slyly.  "  But  never 
mind,  old  boy,  —  I  shall  stand  your 
friend,  and  the  justices  mine.  We  shall 
beat  him  yet,"  said  Hawes,  assuming  a 
firmness  he  did  not  feel,  lest  this  man 
should  fall  away  from  him  and  per- 
haps bear  witness  against  him. 

"  I  think  you  have  beat  him  al- 
ready," replied  the  other,  calmly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  have  just  come  from  Mr.  Eden. 
He  sent  for  me." 

"  What,  is  n't  he  well  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  wish  he  'd  die  !  But  there  is  no 
chance  of  that." 

"  Well,  there  is  always  a  chance  of 
a  man  dying  who  has  got  a  bilious 
fever." 

*  A  eeneric  term  for  swooning,  or  sicken- 
iug,  or  goiug  mad,  in  a  prison. 


136 


*'IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD." 


"  Why,  you  don't  mean  he  is  sor 
riously  ill '?  "  cricil  llawcs,  in  cxcitu- 
raeni. 

"  I  don't  fay  that,  but  he  has  got  a 
sharp  attack." 

Mr.  Hawes  examined  the  speaker's 
face.  It  was  as  le<,'ilile  as  a  book  from 
the  outside.  He  went  from  the  sub- 
ject to  one  or  two  iiiditfercnt  matters, 
but  lie  could  not  keep  long  from  what 
was  uppermost. 

"  Sawyer,"  said  he,  "  you  and  I 
have  always  been  good  friends." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Hawes." 

"  I  have  never  been  hard  upon  you. 
You  ought  to  be  here  every  day, 
but  the  pay  is  small,  and  I  have  nev- 
er insisted  on  it,  because  I  said,  he 
can't  afford  to  leave  patients  that 
pay." 

"  No,  Mr.  Hawes,  and  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"Are  you?  Then  tell  me,  —  be- 
tween ourselves  now,  —  how  ill  is 
he?" 

"  He  has  got  bilious  fever  conse- 
quent upon  jaundice." 

Hawes  lowered  his  voice.  "  Is  he 
in  danger?  " 

"  In  danger  ?  Why,  no,  not  at 
present." 

"  Oh !  then  it  is  only  an  indisposi- 
tion, after  all." 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  more  than  that, 
—  it  is  fever  and  bile." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  in  two  words 
how  ill  he  is  ?" 

"  Not  till  I  see  how  the  case  turns." 

"  When  will  you  be  able  to  say, 
then  ?  " 

"  When  the  disorder  declares  itself 
more  fully." 

Hawes'cxplodcd  in  an  oath.  "  You 
humbugs  of  doctors  could  n't  s{x*ak 
plain  to  save  yourselves  from  hang- 
'ing." 

There  was  some  truth  in  this  ill- 
natured  e'xcuse.  After  fifteen  years 
given  to  tlie  science  of  obscurity,  Mr. 
S.iwycr  litcr.illy  <ould  not  speak  plain 
all  in  one  moment. 

The  next  morning  there  was  no 
service  in  the  chapel,  the  chaplain 
was  in   bed.      This  sj)oke  for  itself, 


and  Hawes  wore  a  grim  sali.sfaction 
at  the  announcement 

IJut  this  was  not  all.  In  the  after- 
noon came  a  letter  from  Mr.  Williams 
witb  a  large  enclosure  signed  by  her 
Majesty's  secretary's  secretary,  and 
written  by  her  secretary's  secretary's 
secretary. 

Its  precise  contents  will  he  related 
elsewhere.  Its  tendency  may  be  gath- 
ered from  this. 

Hawes  had  no  sooner  read  it,  than 
exultation  painted  itself  on  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Close  the  infirmary,  and  bring  me 
the  key.  And  you.  Fry,  put  these 
numbers  on  the  cranks  to-morrow." 
He  scribbled  with  his  pencil,  and 
gave  him  a  long  list  of  the  proscribed. 

No  Mr.  Eden  shone  now  upon  Rob- 
inson's solitude.  He  waited,  and 
waited,  and  hoped  till  the  day  ended, 
but  no !  The  next  day  the  same 
thing.  He  longed  for  Mr.  Eden's 
hour  to  come;  it  Ciime,  but  not  with 
it  came  his  one  bit  of  sunsiiine,  his 
excitement,  his  amusement,  his  con- 
solation, his  friend,  his  bro;her,  his 
all.  And  so  one  heavy  day  succeeded 
another,  and  Robinson  became  fret- 
ful and  very,  very  sad.  One  day  as 
he  sat  disconsolate  and  foreboding  in 
his  cell,  he  heard  a  stranger's  voice 
tjdking  to  Fry  outside  ;  and,  what  was 
more  strange,  Fry  appeared  to  be  in- 
viting this  ])erson  to  iinpect  tiie  cells. 
The  next  moment  his  door  was  opened, 
and  a  figure  pcej)ed  timidly  into  the 
cell  from  behind  Fry,  whose  arm  she 
clutched  in  some  an.xiety.  Robinson 
looked  up ;  it  was  Susan  Mcrton. 
She  did  not  instantly  know  him  in 
his  prison  dress  and  his  curly  hair  cnt 
short;  he  hung  his  head,  and  this  ac- 
tion and  the  recognition  it  implied 
made  her  recognize  him.  "Oh!" 
cried  she,  "it  is  Mr.  Robinson  !  " 

The  thief  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall.  Even  he  was  ashamed  before 
one  who  had  known  him  as  Mr.  Rob- 
inson ;  but  the  next  moment  he  got 
uj)  and  said  earnestly  :  — 

"  Pray,  Miss  Merton,  do  me  a  favor, 
—  vou  had  ahvavs  a  kind  heart.    Ask 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


137 


that  man  what  has  become  of  Mr.^ 
Eden,  — he  will  answer  you." 

"  Mr.  Robinson,"  cried  Susan,  "I 
have  no  need  to  ask  Mr.  Fry.  I  am 
stayins^  at  Mr.  Eden's  bouse.  He  is 
very  ill,  Mr.  Kobinson." 

"All !  I  feared  as  much  !  he  never 
would  have  deserted  me  else.  What 
is  the  trouble  1  " 

"  You  m:\y  well  say  trouble  !  it  is 
the  prison  that  has  fretted  him  to 
death,"  cried  Susan,  half  bitterly,  half 
sorrowfully. 

"  But  he  will  gjet  well !  it  is  not 
serious  1 "  inquired  Robinson,  anx- 
iously. 

Fry  pricked  his  ears. 

"  lie  is  very  ill,  Mr.  Robinson  "  ;  and 
Susan  sighed  heavily. 

"  I'll  pray  for  him.  He  has  taught 
me  to  pray  :  all  the  poor  fellows  will 
pray  for  him  that  know  Ijow.  Miss 
Merton,  good  for  nothing  as  I  am,  I 
would  die  for  Mr.  Eden  this  minute 
if  I  could  save  his  life  by  it." 

Susan  thought  of  this  speech  after- 
wards. Now  she  but  said  :  "  I  will 
tell  him  what  you  say." 

"  And  won't  you  bring  me  one 
word  back  from  his  dear  mouth  ?  " 

"  Yes !  I  will !  good  by,  Mr.  Rob- 
inson." 

Robinson  tried  to  say  good  by,  but 
it  stuck  in  his  throat.  Susan  retired, 
and  his  cell  seemed  darker  than  ever. 

Mr,  Eden  lay  stricken  with  fever. 
He  had  been  what  most  of  us  would 
have  called  ill  long  before  this.  The 
day  of  Carter's  crucifixion  was  a  fatal 
day  to  him.  On  that  day  for  the  first 
time  he  saw  a  crucifixion  without 
being  sick  after  it.  The  poor  soul 
congratulated  himself  so  on  this  :  but 
there  is  reason  to  think  that  same 
sickness  acted  as  a  safety  valve  to  his 
nature  ;  when  it  ceased  the  bile  over- 
flowed and  mixed  with  his  blood, 
l)roduciiig  thitt  horrible  complaint 
jaundice.  Even  then  if  the  causes  of 
grief  and  wrong  had  ceased  he  might 
perhaps  have  had  no  dangerous  at- 
tack ;  but  everything  was  against 
him,  —  constant  grief,  constant  won-y, 
and  constant  preternatural  exertions 


to  sustain  others  while  drooping  him- 
self. Even  those  violent  etibrts  of 
will  by  which  he  thrust  back  for  a 
time  the  approaches  of  his  malady  told 
heavily  upon  him  at  last.  The  thor- 
ough-bred horse  ran  much  longer 
than  a  cocktail  would,  but  he  could 
not  run  forever. 

He  lay  unshaven,  hollow-eyed,  and 
sallow.  Mrs.  Davies  and  Susan 
watched  him  by  turns,  except  whru 
he  compelled  them  to  go  and  take  a 
little  rest  or  amusement.  The  poor 
thing's  thoughts  were  never  on  him- 
self, even  when  he  was  light-headed, 
and  this  was  often,  though  not  for 
long  together.  It  was  generally  his 
poor  prisoners,  and  what  he  was  going 
to  do  for  them. 

This  is  how  Susan  Merton  came  to 
visit  Robinson  :  —  One  day  seeing  his 
great  interest  in  all  tliat  concerned  the 
prison,  and  remembering  there  was  a 
book  addressed  to  one  of  the  officers, 
Susan,  who  longed  to  do  something 
however  small  to  please  him,  deter- 
mined to  take  this  book  to  its  destina- 
tion. Leaving  Mrs.  Davies  with  a 
strict  injunction  not  to  stir  from  Mr. 
Eden's  room  till  she  came  back,  she 
went  to  the  prison  and  knocked  tim- 
idly at  tlie  great  door.  It  was  opened 
instantly,  and,  as  Susan  fancied,  fierce- 
ly, by  a  burly  figure.  Susan,  suppress- 
ing an  inclination  to  run  away,  asked 
tremulously,  — 

"  Does  Mr.  Fry  live  here  1  " 

''Yes." 

"  Can  I  speak  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Come  in,  miss." 

Susan  stepped  in. 

The  man  slammed  the  door. 

Susan  wished  herself  on  its  other 
side. 

"  My  name  is  Fry :  what  is  your 
pleasure  with  me  ?  " 

"  JSIr.  Fry,  I  am  so  glad  I  have 
found  you.  I  am  come  here  from  a 
friend  of  yours." 

"  From  a  friend  of  mine  ?  ?  ! !  "  said 
Fry,  with  a  mystified  air. 

'"'  Yes  ;  from  Mr.  Eden.  Here  is 
the  book,  Mr.  Fry  ;  ])Oor  Mr.  Eden 
could   not  bring  it  you  himself^  but 


138 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


you  see  he  has  written  j-our  name  on 
the  rover  with  liis  own  hatid," 

Fry  took  the  book  from  Susan's 
hand,  and,  in  so  doinfj,  observed  tliat 
glic  was  lovely  ;  so,  to  make  her  a  re- 
turn for  brini^infr  bim  "  Uncle  Tom  " 
and  for  beinj;  so  pretty,  Fry,  for  once 
in  his  life,  felt  frenerous,  and  rej)aid 
her  by  volnnteerinjr  to  show  her  the 
prison,  —  indulgent  Fry  ! 

To  his  surprise,  Susan  did  not 
jump  at  this  remuneration.  On  the 
contraiy,  she  said  hastily, — 

"  O  no  !  no  !  no  !  " 

Then,  seeing  by  his  face  that  her 
new  ac(iuaintance  thought  her  a  mad- 
woman, she  added :  — 

"  That  is,  yes !  I  think  I  should 
like  to  see  it  a  little,  —  a  very  little,  — 
but  if  I  do  you  must  keep  close  by 
me,  Mr.  Fry." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  shall  keep  with 
you,"  replied  Fry,  somewhat  eon- 
tcmptuously.  "  No  strangers  ad- 
mitted except  in  company  of  an 
officer." 

Susan  still  hung  fire  a  little. 

"  But  you  mustn't  go  to  show  me 
the  very  wicked  ones." 

"  Wby,  they  are  all  pretty  much 
of  a  muchness  for  that." 

"  I  mean  the  murderers,  —  I  could 
n't  bear  such  a  sight." 

"  Got  none,"  said  Fry,  sorrowftdly; 
"  parted  with  the  last  of  that  sort 
four  months  ago,  —  up  at  eight,  down 
at  nine, — you  understand,  miss." 

llai)i»ily  Susan  did  not  understand 
this  brutal  allusion ;  and,  not  to 
show  her  ignorance,  she  said  noth- 
ing, but  passed  to  a  second  stipula- 
tion. 

"  And.  Mr.  Fry,  I  know  the  men 
that  set  tire  to  Farmer  Dean's  ricks 
are  in  this  jail  ;  I  won't  see  them  ; 
they  would  give  me  such  a  turn, 
for  that  seems  to  me  the  next  crime 
after  murder,  —  to  di'stroy  the  crops 
after  the  very  weather  has  spared 
them." 

Fry  smiled  superior  ;  then  he  said 
sarcastically  :  — 

"  Don't  you  be  frightened,  some 
of  our  lot  arc   beauties ;  your  friend 


the  ])arson  is  as  fond  of  some  of  \m 
as  a  cow  is  of  her  calf.'' 

'*  O,  then  show  me  those  ones  !  " 

Fry  t<jok  her  to  one  or  two  cells. 
Whenever  he  o|>ened  a  cell  door  she 
always  clutched  him  on  both  ribs, 
and  this  tickled  Fry,  so  did  her  sim- 
plicity. 

At  last  he  came  to  Robinson's 
cell. 

"  In  here  there  is  a  sulky  chap." 

"  O,  then  let  us  go  ou  to  the 
next." 

"  But  this  is  one  his  reverence  is 
uncommon  fond  of,"  said  Fry,  with 
a  sneer  and  a  chuckle;  so  he  flung 
open  the  door,  and  if  the  man  had 
not  hung  his  head  Susan  would  liard- 
ly  have  recognized  in  his  uniform 
corduroy  and  close-cropped  hair  tlie 
vulgar  Adonis  who  had  sat  glitter- 
ing o|)posite  her  at  table  the  last  tiiuc 
they  met. 

After  the  interview  which  I  have 
described,  Susan  gratified  Fry  by 
praising  (he  beautiful  cleanliness  of 
the  prison,  and  returned,  leaving  a 
pleasant  impression  even  on  iliis 
rough  hide,  and  "  Uncle  Tom,"  be- 
hind her. 

When  she  got  home  she  found  her 
patient  calm  but  languid. 

W'hile  she  was  relating  her  en- 
counter with  Robinson,  and  her  pre- 
vious acquaintance  with  him,  the 
knock  of  a  born  fool  at  a  sick  man's 
door  made  them  all  start.  It  was 
Rutila  with  a  long  letter  bearing  an 
ample  seal. 

Mr.  Eden  took  it  with  brightening 
eye,  read  it,  and  ground  it  almost 
convulsively  in  his  hand.  "Asses!" 
cried  he ;  but  the  next  moment  l;c 
groaned  and  bowed  his  head.  Her 
Majesty's  secretary's  secretary's  secre- 
tary liail  written  to  tell  biin  that  his 
apj)eal  for  an  inquiry  had  travelled 
out  of  the  regular  course  :  it  ought  to 
have  been  madi'  in  tlie  first  instance  to 
the  visiting  justices,  whose  business 
it  was  to  conduct  such  iuqtnries,  and 
that  it  lay  with  these  visiting  justices 
to  ajtply  to  the  Home  Office  for  an 
extraordinary   inquiry  if  they  found 


•  «IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


139 


they  could  not  deal  with  the  facts  in 
the  usual  way.  The  office  tlierefore 
had  sent  copies  of  his  memorial  to 
each  of  the  visitinj^  justices,  who  at 
tiicir  next  inspection  of  the  jail  would 
examine  into  the  alleged  facts,  and 
had  been  requestt'd  to  insert  the  re- 
sults in  their  periodical  report. 

Mr.  Eden  sat  up  in  bed,  his  eye 
glittering :  "  Bring  me  my  writing- 
desk." 

It  was  put  on  the  bed  before  him, 
but  with  many  kind  injunctions  not 
to  worry  himself  He  promised  faith- 
fully. He  wrote  to  the  Home  Office 
in  this  style  :  — 

"  A  question  of  life  and  death  can- 
not be  played  with  as  you  have  incon- 
siderately proposed  ;  nor  can  a  higher 
jurisdiction  transfer  an  appeal  to  a 
lower  one  without  the  appellant's  con- 
sent. Such  a  course  is  still  more  out 
of  order  when  the  higher  judge  is  a 
salaried  servant  of  the  state  and  the 
lower  ones  are  amateurs.  This  was 
so  self  evident  that  I  did  not  step  out 
of  the  direct  line  to  cast  reflections 
upon  unpaid  servants.  You  have  not 
seen  what  is  self-evident, — you  drive 
me  therefore  to  explanations. 

"  I  offered  you  evidence  that  this 
jailer  is  a  felon,  who  has  hoodwinked 
the  visiting  justices,  and  has  deceived 
you.  But  between  you  and  the  jus- 
tices is  this  essential  difference  :  they 
have  been  hoodwinked  in  spite  of 
their  own  eyes,  their  own  ears,  and 
•contact  with  that  mass  of  living  and 
dying  evidence,  the  prisoners.  You 
have  been  deceived  without  a  single 
opportunity  of  learning  the  truth. 

"  Therefore  I  appealed,  and  do  ap- 
peal, not  to  convicted  incompetency, 
but  to  those  whose  incompetency  re- 
mains to  be  proved.  Perhaps  you 
will  understand  me  better  if  I  put  it 
thus  :  I  still  accuse  the  jailer  of  more 
th:in  a  hundred  felonious  assaults  upon 
prisoners,  of  attacks  upon  their  lives 
liy  physical  torture,  by  hunger,  tliirst, 
preposterous  confinement  in  dark  dun- 
geons, and  other  illegal  practices  ;  and 
I  now  advance  another  step,  and  ac- 
cuse the  visiting  justices  of  gross  dere- 


liction of  their  duty,  of  neglecting 
to  ascertain  the  real  practice  of  the 
jailer  in  some  points,  and  in  others  of 
encouraging,  aiding,  and  al^etiing  him 
in  open  violations  of  the  prison  rules, 
printed  and  issued  by  act  of  Parlia- 
ment. Of  these  rules,  which  arc  the 
jail  code,  I  send  you  a  copy.  I  note 
the  practices  of  the  jail  by  the  side  of 
the  rules  of  the  jail:  by  comparing 
the  two  you  may  calculate  the  amount 
of  lawless  cruelty  perpetrated  here  in 
each  single  day  ;  then  ask  yourself 
whether  an  honest  man  who  is  on 
the  spot  can  wait  four  or  five  months, 
till  justice,  crippled  by  routine,  comes 
hobbling,  instead  of  sweeping,  to  their 
relief. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  bring  to  bear 
upon  a  matter  vital  to  the  state  one 
half  the  intelligence,  zeal,  and  sense 
of  responsibility  you  will  throw  this 
evening  into  some  ambiguous  ques- 
tion of  fleeting  policy  or  speculative 
finance.  Here  are  one  hundred  and 
eighty  souls  to.  whose  correction,  cure, 
and  protection  the  state  is  pledged. 
No  one  of  all  these  lives  is  safe  a  single 
day.  In  six  weeks  I  have  saved  two 
lives  that  were  gone  but  for  me.  I 
am  now  sick  and  enfeebled  by  the 
exertions  I  have  had  to  make  to  save 
lives,  and  am  in  no  condition  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  destruction.  I  tell 
you  that  more  lives  will  fall  if  you  do 
not  come  to  my  aid  at  once  !  and  for 
every  head  that  falls  from  this  hour 
I  hold  you  responsible  to  God  and  the 
state. 

"  If  I  fail  to  prove  my  several  ac- 
cusations, as  a  matter  of  course  I 
shall  be  dismissed  from  my  office 
deservedly  ;  and  this  personal  risk  en- 
titles me  not  only  to  petition  for,  but 
to  demand,  an  inquiryinto  the  practice 

of Jail.     And    in   the  Queen's 

name,  whose  salaried  servant  1  am,  I 
do  demand  it  on  the  instant  and  on 
the  spot." 

Thus  did  flesh  and  blood  address 
gutta-percha. 

The  excitement  of  writing  this  let- 
ter did  the  patient  no  good.  A  reac- 
tion  came,  and   that   night   his  kind 


140 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


nurses  were  seriously  alarmed  about 
him.  They  sent  ft)r  the  surgeon,  who 
ffit  his  pulse  and  his  skin  jMid  looked 
grave.  However,  he  told  them  there 
was  no  immediate  danger,  and  wrote 
a  Iresh  prescription. 

The  patient  would  eat  nothing  but 
bread  and  water  and  gruel ;  but  he 
took  all  the  doctor's  medicines,  which 
were  raking  ones  ;  only  at  each  visit 
and  prescription  he  cross-examined 
him  as  to  what  effect  he  hoped  to  pro- 
duce by  his  prescription,  and  com- 
pared the  man's  expectations  with  the 
result. 

This  process  soon  brought  him  to 
the  suspicion  that  in  his  case  ^scu- 
lapius's  science  was  guesswork.  But 
we  go  on  hoping  and  hoping  some- 
thing from  traditional  remedies,  even 
when  they  fail  aad  fail  and  fail  before 
our  eyes. 

He  was  often  light-headed,  and 
vented  schemes  of  charity  and  benev- 
olence -ludicrous  by  their  unearthly 
grandeur.  One  day  he  was  more 
than  light-headed,  —  lie  was  delirious, 
and  frightened  his  kind  nurses;  and 
to  this  delirium  succeeded  great  feeble- 
ness, and  this  day  for  the  first  time 
Susan  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was 
Heaven's  will  earth  should  lose  this 
man,  of  whom  in  truth  earth  was 
scarce  w^orthy.  She  came  to  liis  side 
and  said  tenderly  :  "  Let  me  do  some- 
thing for  you.  Shall  I  read  to  you, 
or  sing  you  a  hymn  ?  "  Her  voice 
had  often  soothed  and  done  him 
good.  "  Tell  me,  what  can  I  do  for 
yon  !  " 

The  man  smiled  gratefully,  then 
looked  imploringly  in  her  eyes,  and 
s:iid  :  "  Dear  Susan,  go  for  me  into 
the  prison  and  pay  Strutt  and  Robin- 
son each  a  visit.  Strutt  the  longest, 
he  is  tlie  oldest.  Poor  things  !  they 
miss  me  sadly." 

Susan  made  no  foolish  objection. 
She  did  what  she  was  asked,  and 
came  l)ack  and  told  him  all  they  had 
sail!  and  all  she  had  said  ;  and  how 
kind  evcryhody  was  to  her  in  the 
prison  ;  and  how  they  had  all  asked 
how  he  was  to-day. 


"  They  are  very  good,"  said  he, 
feebly. 

Soon  after  he  dozed  ;  and  Susan, 
who  always  wore  a  cheerful  look  to 
his  face,  could  now  yield  to  her  real 
feelings. 

She  sat  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  bed  and  tried  to  work,  and  every 
now  and  then  looked  up  to  watcji 
him,  and  again  and  again  her  eyes 
were  blinded  ;  and  she  laid  down  her 
work,  for  her  heart  said  to  her,  "  A 
few  short  days  and  you  will  see  him 
no  more." 

Mrs.  Davies  too  was  grave  and  siid. 
She  had  made  the  house  neat  and 
clean  from  cellar  to  garret,  and  now 
he  who  should  have  enjoyed  it  lay 
there  sick  unto  death. 

"  Susan,"  said  she,  "  I  doubt  I 
have  been  sent  here  to  set  his  house 
in  order  against  his  —  " 

"  O,  don't  tell  me  that,"  cried  Su- 
san ;  and  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  sob- 
bing, for  Mrs.  Davies  had  harped  her 
own  fear. 

"  Take  care,  he  is  waking,  Susan. 
He  must  not  see  us." 

"  O  no  !  "  and  the  next  moment 
she  was  by  her  patient's  side,  with  a 
cheerful  look  and  voice  and  manner, 
well  calculated  to  keep  any  male  heart 
from  sinking,  sick  or  well. 

Heavy  heart  and  hopeful  face ! 
such  a  nurse  was  Susan  jNIerton.  This 
kind  deception  became  more  difficult 
every  day.  Her  patient  wasted  and 
wasted  ;  and  the  anxious  look  that  is 
often  seen  on  a  death-stricken  man's 
face  showed  itself.  Mrs.  Davies  s.-.w 
it,  and  Susan  saw  it ;  but  the  siek 
man  himself  as  yet  had  never  s])oken 
of  his  decease  ;  and  l)oth  Mrs.  Davies 
and  Susan  often  wondered  that  he 
did  not  seem  to  see  his  real  state. 

But  one  day  it  so  happened  that  lie 
was  light  headed  and  greatly  excited, 
holding  a  conversation.  His  eye  w:is 
flashing,  and  he  s])oke  in  bursts,  and 
then  stopped  awhile,  and  seemed  to 
be  listening  in  irritation  to  some  argu- 
ments with  which  he  did  not  agree. 

The  enthusiast  was  building  a  pris- 
on in  the  air.     A  prison  with  a  farm, 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


141 


a  school,  and  a  manufiictory  attached. 
Here  were  to  be  coml)ined  the  good 
points  of  every  system,  and  others  of 
his  own. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  in  answer  to-  his 
iniasiinary  companion,  "  there  shall 
be  both  separation  and  silence  for 
those  whose  moral  case  it  suits,  — for 
all,  perhaps,  at  first,  —  but  not  for  all 
always.  Away  witli  your  Morrison's 
pill-system,  — your  cliildish  monotony 
of  moral  treatment  in  cases  varying, 
and  sometimes  opposed." 

"  Yes,  but  I  would.  I  would  allow 
a  degree  of  intercourse  between  such 
as  were  disposed  to  confirm  each 
other  in  good.  Watch  them  ?  why, 
of  course,  —  and  closely,  too." 

"  Intelligent  labor  for  every  crea- 
ture in  the  place.  No  tiekets-of-leave 
to  let  the  hypocritical  or  self  deceiving 
ones  loose  upon  the  world." 

"  No,  I  test  their  repentance  first 
with  a  little  liberty." 

"  How  ?  Why,  fly  them  with  a 
string  before  I  let  them  fly  frcel" 

"  Occupation  provided  outride  the 
prison  gates  ;  instead  of  ticket  of-leave 
let  the  candidate  work  there  on  parole 
and  come  into  the  prison  at  night." 

"  Some  will  break  parole  and  run 
away  1  All  the  better.  Then  you 
know  their  real  character.  Telegraph 
them.  You  began  by  photographing 
them,  —  send  their  likenesses  to  every 
town,  —  catch  them,  —  cell  them." 

"  Indeed  !  And  pray  what  would 
these  same  men  have  done  had  you 
given  them  the  ticket-of-leave  in- 
stead ?  " 

"  By  the  present  plan,  your  pseudo- 
convert  commits  a  dozen  crimes  be- 
fore his  hypocrisy  is  suspected  ;  by 
ours  a  single  offence  warns  you  and 
arms  you  against  him." 

"  Systems  avail  less  than  is  sup- 
posed, for  good  or  ill,  all  depends 
on  your  men,  not  your  macliinery." 

"  We  have  got  rid  of  the  old  patch 
that  rotted  our  new  garment.  AVhen 
1  first  wns  chaplain  of  a  jail  —  " 

His  mind  had  gone  forward  some 
years. 

"  Then  we  were  mad,  —  thought  a 


new  system  could  be  worked  by  men 
of  the  past,  by  jailers  and  turnkeys 
belonging  to  the  dark  and  brutal  ago 
that  came  before  ours." 

"  Those  dark  days  are  passed.  Now 
we  have  really  a  governor  and  w.ird- 
ers  instead  of  jailers  and  turnkeys. 
The  nation  has  discovered  these  are 
high  offices,  not  mean  ones." 

"  Yes,  Lepel,  yes  !  Our  officers  are 
men  picked  out  of  all  England  for  in- 
telligence and  humanity.  Tlie}^  co- 
operate with  me.  Our  jail  is  one  of 
the  nation's  eyes,  —  it  is  a  school, 
thank  Heaven  it  is  not  a  dungeon  !  — 
I  am  in  bed  !  " 

With  these  last  words  he  had  come 
to  himself,  and  0,  the  sad  contrast ! 
Butcherly  blockheads  in  these  high 
places,  and  himself  lying  sick  and 
powerless,  unable  to  lift  a  hand  for 
the  cause  he  loved. 

The  sigh  that  burst  from  him 
seemed  to  tear  his  very  heart ;  but 
the  very  next  moment*he  put  his 
hands  humbly  together  and  said  : 
"  God's  will  be  done  ! "  Yet  one 
big  tear  gathered  in  his  lion  eye, 
and,  spite  of  all,  trickled  down  his 
cheek  wiiilc  he  said,  "  God's  will  be 
done." 

Susan  saw  it,  and  turned  quickly 
away  and  hid  her  face  ;  but  he  called 
her,  and  thon^^h  his  lip  quivered  his 
voice  was  pretty  firm. 

"  Dear  friend,  God  can  always  find 
instruments.  The  good  work  will  be 
done,  though  not  by  me." 

So  then  Susan  judged  by  these  few 
words,  and  the  tear  that  trickled  from 
his  closed  eyes,  that  he  saw  what 
others  saw,  and  did  not  look  to  live 
now. 

She  left  the  room  in  ha^te,  not 
to  agitate  him  by  the  sorrow  she 
could  no  longer  restrain  or  con- 
ceal. The  patient  lay  quiet,  lan- 
guidly dozing. 

Now  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon the  surgeon  came  to  the  door; 
but  what  surprised  Susan  was  that 
a  man  accompaniid  him  whom  she 
only  just  knew  by  sight,  and  who  had 
never  been  there  before,  —  the  turnkey 


142 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


Hodges.  The  pair  spoke  toc:cther 
ill  11  low  tone  ;  unci  Susan,  wlio  was 
looking  down  from  an  npper  window, 
could  not  hear  wliat  they  said  ;  hut 
tlic  discussion  lasted  a  minute  or  two 
belbrc  tliey  rang  t  lie  l)ell.  Susan  <anie 
down  herself  and  admitted  them.  But 
as  she  was  leading  the  way  up  stairs 
her  aunt  suddenly  hoiinced  out  of  the 
parlor  looking  unaccountably  red,  and 
said  :  — 

"  I  will  go  up  with  them,  Susan." 

Susan  said,  "  If  you  like,  aunt  "  ; 
but  felt  some  little  surprise  at  Mrs. 
Davies's  brisk  mann'.'r. 

At  the  sick  man's  door  Mrs.  Davies 
paused,  and  said  dryly,  with  a  look  at 
Hodges,  "  Who  shall  I  say  is  come 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hodges,  one  of  the  warders, 
is  come  to  iiupiire  after  his  rever- 
ence's health,"  replied  tlie  surgeon, 
smoothly. 

"  I  must  *sk  him  first  whether  he 
will  receive  a  stranger." 

"  Admit  him,"  was  Mr.  Eden's 
answer. 

The  men  enter;d  the  room,  and 
were  welcomed  with  a  kind  hut  feeble 
smiie  from  the  sick  man. 

"  Sit  down,  Hodges." 

The  surgeon  felt  his  pulse  and  wrote 
a  prescription  ;  for  it  is  a  tradition  of 
the  elders  that  at  each  visit  the  doctor 
must  do  some  overt  act  of  medicine. 
After  this  he  asked  the  patient  how  lie 
felt. 

Mr.  Eden  turned  an  eloquent  look 
upon  him  in  rejjly. 

"I  must  speak  to  Ilodjies,"  said 
he.  "  Come  near  me,  Hodges,"  said 
he,  in  a  kind  voice,  "  perhaps  I  may 
nor  have  many  more  o))portunities  of 
giving  you  a  word  of  friendly  exlior- 
tation  " 

Here  a  short,  dissatisfied,  contempt- 
uous grunt  was  heard  at  the  window- 
seat. 

•*  Did  yon  speak,  Mrs.  Davies?  " 

"  No,  i  did  n't,"  was  the  somewliat 
sharp  reply. 

"  We  slioidd  improve  every  occa- 
sion, Mrs.  Davies,  and  I  want  this  poor 
man  to  know  that  a  dying  man  may 


feel  happy,  and  hope  everything  from 
God's  love  and  mercy,  if  he  has  lovnl 
and  pitied  his  brothers  and  sisters  of 
Ad:im's  race." 

When  he  called  himself  a  dying 
man,  Hodges,  who  was  looking  un- 
comibrtable  and  at  the  Hoor,  raised 
his  head,  and  the  surgeon  and  he  in- 
terchanged a  raj)id  look  ;  it  was  ob- 
served, though  not  by  Mr.  Eden. 

That  gentleman,  seeing  Hodges 
wear  an  abashed  look  which  he  misun- 
derstood, and  aiming  to  improve  him 
for  the  future,  not  punish  him  for  the 
past,  said,  "  But  first  let  me  thank  you 
for  coming  to  see  me  "  ;  and  with  these 
words  he  put  his  hand  out  of  the  bed 
with  a  kind  smile  to  Hodges.  His 
gentle  intention  was  roughly  inter- 
rupted :  Mrs.  Davies  flung  down  her 
work  and  came  like  a  flaming  turkey- 
cock  across  the  floor  in  a  moment, 
and  seized  his  arm  and  flung  it  back 
into  the  bed. 

"  No,  ye  don't !  ye  sha'n't  give  your 
band  to  anv  such  rubiiish. " 

"  Mrs.  iKavies  !  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Davies ;  you  don't 
know  what  they 've  come  here  for  — 
I  overheard  ye  at  the  door !  You  have 
<:ot  an  enemy  in  that  filthy  jail, 
have  n't  you,  sir  ?  Well  !  this  man 
comes  from  him  to  see  how  bail  you 
are,  —  i hey  were  colloguing  together 
backwards  and  forwards  ever  so  long, 
and  I  heard  'em,  —  it  is  not  out  of 
any  kindness  or  good-will  in  the  world. 
Now  snpjiose  you  march  out  the  wi\y 
yon  ( ame  in,"  screamed  Mrs.  Davies. 

"Mrs.  Davies,  he  quiet  and  let  me 
speak  1  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,  sir,"  said  the  wo- 
man with  a  ludicrously  sudden  calm 
and  coaxing  tone. 

There  was  a  silence ;  Mr.  Eden 
eyed  the  men.  Small  guilt  peejied 
from  th(>m  by  its  usual  little  signs. 

Mr.  Eden's  lip  curled  magnificent- 
ly- 

"  So  you  did  not  come  to  see  mc, 
—  you  were  sent  by  that  man.  (Mrs. 
Davies,  be  quiet ;  curiosity  is  not  a 
crime,  like  torturing  the  defenceless.) 
Mr.  Hawes  sent  you  that  you  might 


"  IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEXD." 


143 


tell  him  liow  soon  his  victims  are  like 
to  lose  their  only  earthly  defender." 

The  men  colored  and  stammered  ; 
Mrs.  Davies  covered  her  face  with 
her  apron  and  rocked  herself  on  her 
chair. 

Mr.  Eden  flowed  gently  on. 

"  Tell  your  master  that  I  have  set- 
tled all  my  worldly  affairs,  and  caused 
all  my  trifling  deijts  to  be  paid. 

"  Tell  him  that  1  have  made  my 
will!  (I  have  provided  in  it  for  the 
turnkey  Evans,  —  he  will  know  why.) 

"  Tell  him  you  found  my  cheeks 
fallen  away,  my  eye  hollow,  and  my 
face  squalid. 

"  Tell  him  my  Bible  was  by  my 
side,  and  even  the  prison  was  min- 
gling with  other  memories,  as  I  drifted 
from  earth  and  all  its  thorns  and  tears. 
All  was  blunted  but  the  Christian's 
faith  and  trust  in  his  Redeemer. 

"  Tell  him  that  there  is  a  cold  dew 
upon  my  forehead. 

"  Tell  him  that  you  found  me  by 
the  sidu  of  the  river  Jordan,  looking 
across  the  cold  river  to  the  heavenly 
land,  where  they  who  have  been 
washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  walk 
in  white  garments,  and  seem,  even  as 
I  gaze,  to  welcome  and  beckon  me  to 
join  them. 

'*  And  then  tell  him,"  cried  he,  in  a 
new  voice,  like  a  flash  of  ligiitning, 
"  tint  he  has  brought  me  back  to 
earth.  You  have  come  and  reminded 
me  that,  if  1  die,  a  wolf  is  waiting  to 
tear  my  sheep.  I  thank  you,  and  I 
tell  you,"  roared  he,  "  as  the  Lord  liv- 
cth,  and  as  my  soul  liveth,  I  will  not 
die,  but  live,  —  and  do  the  Lord's 
work,  —  and  put  my  foot  yet  on  that 
caitifPs  neck,  who  sent  you  to  inspect 
my  decaying  body,  you  poor  tools,  — 

THE  DOOR  ! " 

He  was  up  in  the  bed  by  magic,ptow- 
cring  above  them  all,  and  he  pointed 
to  the  door  with  a  tremendous  gesture 
and  ;m  eye  that  fliimed.  Mrs.  Davies 
caught  the  electric  spark,  in  a  moment 
she  tore  the  door  open,  and  the  pair 
bundled  down  the  stairs  before  that 
terrib'e  eye  and  finger. 

'•  fcjusan,  Susan."    Susan  heard  his 


elevated  voice,  and  came  running  in, 
in  great  anxiety. 

"  They  say  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
friendship  between  a  man  and  a  wo- 
m.in.  Prove  to  nic  this  is  a  falsehood !  " 

''  It  is,  sir." 

"  Do  me  a  service." 

"Ah!— what  is  it?" 

"  Go  a  journey  for  me." 

"I  will  go  all  round  England  for 
you,  Mr.  Eden,"  cried  the  girl,  pant- 
ing and  flushing. 

"  My  writing-desk  !  — it  is  to  a  vil- 
lage sixty  miles  from  this,  but  you 
will  be  there  in  four  hours ;  in  that 
village  lives  the  man  who  can  cure  mo 
if  any  one  can." 

"  VVhat  will  you  take  with  you  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Dav'ies,  all  in  a  bustle. 

"  A  comb  and  brush,  and  a  che- 
mise." 

"  I  Ml  have  them  down  in  a  twink- 
ling." 

The  note  was  written. 

"  Take  this  to  his  house,  see  him, 
tell  him  the  truth,  and  bring  him  with 
you  to-niorrow,  —  it  will  be  fifty 
pounds  out  of  his  pocket  to  leave  his 
patients,  —  but  I  think  he  will  come. 
0  yes  !  he  will  come, — for  auld  lang 
syne." 

"  Good  by,  Mr.  Eden,  —  God  bless 
you,  aunt.  I  want  to  be  gone  ;  I  shall 
bring  him  if  I  have  to  carry  him  in 
my  arms."  And  with  these  words 
Susan  was  gone. 

"  Now,  good  Mrs.  Davies,  give  mo, 
the  Bible.  Often  has  that  book 
soothed  the  torn  nerves  as  well  as  the 
bleeding  heart,  —  and  let  no  one 
come  here  to  grieve  or  vex  me  for 
twenty-four  hours,  —  and  fling  that 
man's  draught  away,  I  want  to  live." 

Mrs.  Davies  had  heard  Hodges  and 
Sawyer  aright.  Mr.  Eden  by  her 
clew  had  interpreted  the  visit  aright, 
with  this  exception,  that  he  overrated 
his  own  importance  in  Mr.  Hawes's 
eyes.  For  Hawes  mocked  at  the 
chaplain's  appeal  to  the  Home  Office 
ever  since  the  office  had  made  his  tools 
the  virtual  referees. 

Still  a  shade  of  uneasiness  re- 
mained.    During  the  progress  of  this 


144 


[T  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


long  duel  Eden  had  let  fall  two  dis- 
airiveahle  hints  :  one  was  that  he 
would  spend  a  thousand  pounds  in 
settinjx  sucli  prisoners  as  survived 
llawc's's  discipline  to  indict  him,  and 
the  other  that  he  would  appeal  to  the 
public  press. 

This  last  threat  had  touched  our 
man  of  brass  ;  i'or,  if  there  is  one 
thing  upon  earth  tliat  another  thing 
does  not  like,  your  moral  malefactor, 
■^ho  happens  to  be  out  of  the  law's 
7"»ach,  bates  and  shivers  at  the  Kew 
jfiailey  in  Printing-house-yard.  So 
\pon  the  whole  Mr.  Hawes  thought 
Ihat  the  best  thing  Mr.  Eden  could  do 
ivould  be  to  go  to  heaven  without  any 
more  fuss. 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  for  all 
parties." 

He  often  questioned  the  doctor  in 
his  blunt  way  how  soon  the  desired 
event  might  be  expected  to  come  off, 
if  at  all.  The  doctor  still  answered 
per  ambages,  at  mos  oraculis. 

"  I  see  1  must  go  myself  No,  I 
won't,  I  '11  send  Fry.  Ah,  here  is 
Hodges.  Go  and  see  the  parson,  and 
come  back  and  tell  me  whether  lie  is 
like  to  live  or  like  to  die.  Mr.  Sawyer 
here  can't  speak  English  about  a 
patient ;  he  would  do  it  to  oblige  me 
if  he  could,  but, him,  he  can't." 

"  Don't  much  like  the  job,"  de- 
murn-d  Hodges,  sulkily. 

"  What  matters  what  you  like  ? 
You  must  all  do  things  you  don't 
like  in  a  prison,  or  get  into  trouble." 

More  nwustomcd  to  olicy  than  to 
reflect,  Hodges  yielded,  but  at  .Mr. 
Eden's  very  door,  his  commander 
being  now  out  of  sight,  his  reluctance 
revived  ;  and  this  led  to  an  amicable 
discussion  in  which  the  surgeon  made 
him  observe  how  very  icrocious  and 
im[)atient  of  op]»osition  the  governor 
had  1  itely  become. 

"  He  ran  get  either  of  us  dismissed 
if  we  offend  him." 

So  the  jiair  of  cowards  did  what 
they  wc-re  iiid,  —  and  got  tlu-niscivi  s 
trixl  upon  a  bit.  It  only  remains  to 
be  said  that  as  they  trutlged  buck  to- 
£<ither  a  little  venom  worked  in  their 


little  hearts.  They  hated  both  duel- 
lists,—  one  for  treating  them  like 
dogs,  the  other  for  sending  them 
where  they  had  got  treated  like  dogs  ; 
and  they  disliked  each  other  for  see- 
ing them  treated  like  dogs.  One  bit- 
terness ihey  escaped,  —  it  did  not  occur 
to  them  to  hate  themselves  for  being 
dogs. 

If  you  force  a  strong-willed  stick 
out  of  its  bent,  with  what  fuiy  it  flies 
back  ad  statum  ((uo,  or  a  little  farther, 
when  the  coercion  is  removed.  So 
hard-grained  Hawes,  his  fears  of  the 
higher  powers  removed,  returned 
with  a  spring  to  his  intermitted 
habits. 

There  was  no  incarnate  obstiicle 
now  to  "  discipline."  There  was  a 
provisional  chaplain,  but  that  chap- 
lain was  worthy  Mr.  Jones,  who,  hav- 
ing vi>ited  the  town  for  a  month, 
had  consented  for  a  week  or  two  to 
supply  the  sick  man's  phce,  and  did 
supply  it  so  far  as  a  j;ood  clock  can 
replace  a  man.  Viewing  himself  now 
as  something  between  an  officer  and 
a  guest,  he  was  less  likely  to  show 
fight  than  ever. 

Earnest  Hawes  pilloried,  flung  into 
black  dungeons,  stole  beds  and  gas- 
light, crushed  souls  with  mysterious 
threats,  and  bodies  with  a  horrible 
mi.xture  of  those  tortures  that  madden 
and  those  other  tortures  that  exhaust. 
No  Spanish  Inquisitor  was  ever  a 
greater  adept  at  this  double  move 
than  earnest  Hawes.  The  means  by 
which  he  cuuld  make  any  ]irisoner 
appear  refractory  have  already  been 
described,  but  in  the  case  of  one 
stout  fellow  whom  he  wanted  to  dis- 
cipline he  now  went  a  step  farther  : 
he  slipped  into  the  yard  and  slyly 
clogged  one  of  the  cranks  with  a 
weight  which  he  inserted  inside  the 
box  and  attached  to  the  machinery. 
This  contrivance  would  have  beaten 
Hereules  and  made  him  seem  idle  to 
any  one  not  in  the  secret.  In  short, 
this  little  blockhead  bade  fair  to  be- 
come one  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  great  men. 
He  combined  the  earnest  sneak  with 
the  eaiaest  butcher. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


145 


Barbarous  times  are  not  wholly  ex- 
puiigtd  as  hook  makers  atfect  to  fear. 
Legislators,  moralists,  and  writers  (I 
don't  include  book-makers  under  tliat 
tisle)  try  to  flap  their  extinguishers 
oil  ihem  with  God's  help;  hut  they 
Si  ill  eotitrive  to  shoot  some  lurid 
speeimens  of  themselves  into-civilized 
epochs.  Such  a  black  ray  of  the 
narrow,  self-deceiving,  stupid,  bloody 
])ast  was  earnest  Hawes. 

Not  a  tithe  of  his  exploits  can  be 
recorded  here  ;  for,  t'lough  he  played 
upon  many  souls  and  bodies,  he  re- 
p  'ated  the  same  notes,  —  hunger, 
thirst,  the  blackness  of  darkness,  cru- 
citixion,  solitude,  loss  of  sleep,  —  so 
that  a  description  of  all  his  feats 
would  be  a  catalogue  of  names  sub- 
jected to  the  above  tortures,  and  be 
dry  as  well  as  revolting. 

I  shall  describe,  therefore,  only  the 
grand  result  of  all,  and  a  case  or  two 
that  varied  hy  a  shade  the  monotony 
of  discipline.  He  kept  one  poor  lad 
without  any  food  at  all  from  Satur- 
da}^  morning  till  Sunday  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and  made  him  work  ;  and  for 
his  Sunday  dinner  gave  the  famished 
wretch  six  ounces  of  bread  and  a  can 
of  water.  He  strapped  one  prisoner 
up  in  the  pillory  for  twenty-four 
hours,  and  directed  him  to  be  fed  in 
it.  This  prisoner  had  a  short  neck, 
and  the  cruel  collar  would  not  let  him 
eat,  so  that  the  tortures  of  Tantalus 
were  added  to  crucifixion.  The  ear- 
nest beast  put  a  child  of  eleven  years 
old  into  a  strait-waistcoat  for  three 
days,  then  kept  him  three  days  on 
bread  and  water,  and  robbed  him  of 
his  bed  and  his  gas  for  fourteen  days. 
We  none  of  u-;  know  the  meaning  of 
these  little  punishments  so  vast  beyond 
our  experience  ;  but,  in  order  to  catch 
a  glimmer  of  the  meaning  of  the  last 
item,  we  must  remember  tirst  that  the 
cells  admit  but  little  light,  and  that 
the  gas  is  the  prisoner's  sunlight  for 
the  hour  or  two  of  rest  from  hard  toil 
that  !  e  is  allowed  before  he  is  ordered 
to  bed,  and  next  that  a  prisoner  has 
but  two  sets  of  clothes,  —  those  he 
stands  upright  in,  and  his  bedclothes; 
7 


these  are  rolled  up  inside  the  bed 
every  morning.  When,  therefore,  a 
prisoner  was  robbed  of  his  bed,  he 
was  robbed  of  the  means  of  keeping 
himself  warm,  as  well  as  of  that  rest 
without  which  life  soon  comes  to  a 
full  stop. 

'Having  victimized  this  child's  ten- 
der body  as  aforesaid,  Mr.  Hawes 
made  a  cut  at  his  soul.  He  stopped 
his  chapel. 

One  ought  not  to  laugh  at  a  worm 
coming  bet\veen  another  worm  and 
his  God,  and  saying,  "  No  !  you  shall 
not  hear  of  God  to-day,  —  you  have 
displeased  a  functionary  whose  disci- 
pline takes  precedence  of  his  "  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  observed,  that,  though  this 
blockhead  did  not  in  one  sense  com- 
prehend the  nature  of  his  own  impious 
act  any  more  than  a  Hottentot  would, 
yet  as  broad  as  he  saw  he  saw  keenly. 

The  one-ideaed  man  wanted  to  pun- 
ish ;  and  deprivation  of  chapel  is  a 
hitter  punishment  to  a  prisoner  under 
the  separate  and  silent  system. 

And  lay  this  down  as  a  rule,  when- 
ever in  this  tale  a  punishment  is  re- 
corded as  having  been  inflicted  by 
Hawes,  however  light  it  may  appear 
to  you  who  never  felt  it,  bring  your 
intelligence  to  bear  on  it,  —  weigh 
the  other  conditions  of  a  prisoner's 
miserable  existence  it  was  added  to,  — 
and  in  every  case  you  will  find  it  was 
a  blow  with  a  sledge-hammer ;  in  short, 
to  comprehend  Hawes  and  his  frater- 
nity, it  is  necessary  to  make  a  mental 
effort  and  comprehend  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "  accumulation." 

The«first  execution  of  biped  Carter 
took  place  about  a  week  after  Mr. 
Eden  was  laid  prostrate. 

It  is  not  generally  very  difficult  to 
outwit  an  imbecile,  and  the  governor 
enmeshed  Carter,  made  him  out  re- 
fractory, and  crucified  him.  The 
poor  soul  did  not  hallo  at  first ;  for  he 
remembered  they  had  not  cut  his 
throat  the  last  time,  as  he  thought 
they  were  going  to  do  (he  had  seen 
a  pig  first  made  fast,  then  stuck). 
Rut,  when  the  bitter  cramps  came  on, 
he  began  to  howl  and  cry  most  fright- 


140 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


fully ;  so  that  Hawes,  who  was  talk- 
iiiir  to  the  surgeon  in  the  centre  of  the 
building,  started  and  came  at  once  to 
the  place.  Mr.  Sawyer  came  witli 
him.  They  tried  ditlcrent  ways  of 
quieting  him,  in  vain.  They  uent  to 
a  distance,  as  Mr.  Eden  had  sug- 
gested, I)ut  it  was  no  use ;  he  w«s 
howling  now  from  pain,  not  fear. 

"  Gag  him  !  "  roared  Ilawes  ;  *'  it  is 
scandalous  ;  I  hate  a  noise." 

"  Better  loose  him,"  suggested  the 
surgeon. 

llawes  blighted  him  with  a  look. 
"  What !  and  let  him  beat  me  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  gag  in  the  prison," 
said  Fry. 

"  A  pretty  prison  without  a  gag  in 
it !  "  said  Ilawes,  the  only  reflection 
he  was  ever  heard  to  cast  on  his 
model  jail ;  then,  with  sudden  feroci- 
ty, he  turned  on  Sawyer.  "  What 
is  the  use  of  you?  don't  you  know 
anything  for  your  money  ?  can't  all 
your  science  stop  this  brute's  wind- 
pipe ? you  !  " 

Science  thus  blandly  invoked  came 
to  the  aid  of  inhumanity. 

*'  Humph !  have  you  got  any  salt  ?  " 

"  Salt !  "  roared  Hawes  ;  "  what  is 
the  use  of  salt  ?  Oh  !  ay,  I  see  !  run 
and  get  a  pound,  and  look  sharp  with 

They  brought  the  sn't. 

"  Now,  will  you  hold  your  -noise  ? 
—  then  give  it  him." 

The  scientilie  operator  watched  his 
opportunity,  and,  when  the  poor  bi- 
ped's mouth  was  open,  howling, 
crammed  a  handful  of  salt  into  it. 
He  spat  it  out  as  well  as  he  ^ould  ; 
but  some  of  it,  dis-olved  iiy  the  saliva, 
found  its  way  down  his  thro  it.  The 
look  of  amazement  and  distie.-s  that 
iollowed  was  most  amusing  to  the 
operators. 

*'  That  was  a  good  idea,  doc. or," 
cried  Hawes. 

The  triumph  was  premature.  Car- 
ter's cries  were  ciioked  for  a  mom  -nt 
by  his  astonishment.  But  the  next, 
finding  a  fresh  torture  added  to  tlie 
first,  he  howled  louder  than  ever. 
Then  the  governor  seized  the  salt, 


powdered  a  good  handful,  and,  avoid- 
ing his  teeth,  crammed  it  suddenly 
into  the  poor  creature's  mouth.  He 
spat  it  furiously  out,  and  the  brine 
fell  like  se:t-spray  upon  all  the  oper- 
ators, especially  on  Ilawes,  who  swore 
at  the  biped,  and  called  him  a  beast; 
and  promised  him  a  long  sjjcil  of  the 
cross  for  his  nastiness.  After  Hawes, 
Fry  must  take  his  turn  ;  and  so  now 
these  three  creatures,  to  whom  Heav- 
en had  given  reason,  combined  their 
strength  and  their  sacred  reason  to 
torture  and  degrade  orie  of  those 
whom  the  French  call  "  betes  du  \>on 
Dieu,"  —  a  Heaven-atilicted,  Heaven- 
pilied  brother. 

They  respected  neither  the  hapless 
wight  nor  his  owner.  Whenever  he 
opened  his  mouth  Aviih  the  instinct 
that  makes  animals  proclaim  their 
hurtle  and  appeal  for  pity  on  the 
chance  of  a  iieart  being  within  hear- 
ing, then  did  the.^e  show  their  sense 
of  his  appeal  thus  :  —  One  of  tlie  party 
crammed  the  stinging  salt  down  his 
throat ;  the  others  watchctl  him,  and 
kei)t  clear  of  the  brine  that  he  spat 
vehemently  out,  and  a  loud  report  of 
laughter  followed  instantly  each  wild 
grimace  and  convidsion  of  fear  and 
torture.  Thus  they  employed  their 
reason,  and  flouted  as  well  as  tortured 
him  V.  ho  had  le-^s. 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  jiaw !  haw!  haw  !  " 

No  lightning  came  down  from 
heaven  upon  these  merry  souls.  The 
idiot's  spittle  (lid  not  l>urn  them  when 
it  fell  on  them.  All  the  woksb 
lOR  tiii:m  ! 

They  left  Carter  for  hours  in  the 
pillory,  and  soon  a  violent  thirst  was 
added"  to  his  suftcrings.  Prolonged 
pain  brings  on  cruel  thirst,  and  many 
a  jjoor  fellow  sufHivd  horribly  from 
ir  during  the  lasr  hours  of  his  pillory. 
But  in  this  case  the  salt  he  had  swal- 
lowed made  it  more  vehement.  ]\lost 
men  go  through  life  and  never  know 
thirst.  It  is  a  frightful  torture,  as 
any  novict"  would  have  learu' d  who 
had  seen  Carter  at  six  in  the  cveidng 
of  this  cruel  day.  The  ])oor  wretch's 
throat  was  so  parched  he  could  huiJly 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


147 


breathe.     His  eyes  were  all  bloodshot, 

and  his  livid  tongue  lolled  strin^less 

I    and    powerless    out   of    his   gasping 

\    mouth.     He  would   have  given   dia- 

'   monds  for  drops  of  water. 

The  earnest  man  going  his  rounds 
of  duty  saw  his  pitiable  state  and  for- 
bade relief  till  the  number  of  hours  he 
had  appointed  for  his  punishment 
should  be  completed.  Discipline  be- 
fore all ! 

There  was  one  man  in  the  jail, 
ju<t  one,  who  could  no  longer  view 
this  barbarity 'unmoved.  His  heart 
had  been  touched  and  his  understand- 
ing wakened,  and  he  saw  these  prodi- 
gies of  cruelty  in  their  true  light.  But 
he  was  afraid  of.  Hawes,  and  unfortu- 
nately the  others  by  an  instinct  felt 
their  comrade  was  no  longer  one  of 
them,  and  watched  him  closely.  But 
his  intelligence  was  awakened  with 
his  humanity.  After  much  thought 
he  hit  upon  this ;  he  took  the  works 
out  of  his  watch, — an  old  hunting 
watch,  —  and,  strolling  into  the  yard, 
dipped  the  case  into  the  bucket,  then 
closed  it;  and  soon  after  getting  close 
to  Carter,  and  between  him  and  Fry, 
he  affected  to  examine  the  prisoner's 
collar,  and  then  hastily  gave  him  a 
watchful  of  cold  water.  Carter  sucked 
it  with  frightful  avidity,  and,  small,  as 
the  draught  was,  no  mortal  can  say 
what  consequences  were  averted  by  it. 
Evans  was  dreadfully  out  of  spirits. 
His  ally  lay  dying,  and  his  enemy  tri- 
umphed. He  looked  to  be  turned  out 
of  the  jail  at  the  next  meeting  of 
magistrates.  But,  when  he  had  given 
the  idiot  his  watch  to  drink  out  of,  an 
unwonted  warmth  and  courage  seemed 
to  come  into  his  heart. 

This  touch  of  humanity  coming 
suddenly  among  the  mo,-t  hellish  of 
all  fiends  —  men  of  system  —  was  like 
tiie  little  candle  in  a  window  that 
throws  its  beams  so  far  when  we  are 
bewildered  in  a  murky  night.  For 
the  place  was  now  a  moral  coal-hole. 
The  dungeons  at  Rome  that  lie  under 
the  wing  of  Roderick  Borgia's  suc- 
cessors are  not  a  more  awful  remnant 
of  antiquity,  or  a  fouler  blot  on  the 


age,  on  the  law,  on  the  land,  and  on 
human  nature. 

A  thick,  dark  pall  of  silence  and 
woe  hung  over  its  huge  walls.  If  a 
voice  was  heard  above  a  whisper  it 
was  sure  to  he  either  a  cry  of  anguish 
or  a  fierce  command  to  inflict  an- 
guish. Two  or  three  were  crucified 
every  day  ;  the  rest  expected  crucifix- 
ion from  morning  till  night.  No 
man  felt  safe  an  liour  ;  no  man  had 
the  means  of  averting  punishment ; 
all  were  at  the  mercy  of  a  tyrant. 
Threats  frightful,  fierce,  and  mysteri- 
ous hung  like  weights  over  every  soul 
and  body.  Whenever  a  prisoner  met 
an  officer,  he  cowered  and  hurried 
crouching  by  like  a  dog  passing  a 
man  with  a  whip  in  his  hand  ;  and  aa 
he  passed  he  trembled  at  the  thunder 
of  his  own  footsteps,  and  wished  to 
Heaven  they  would  not  draw  so  much 
attention  to  him  by  ringing  so  clear 
through  that  huge,  silent  tomb.  When 
an  officer  met  the  governor  he  tried 
to  slip  by  with  a  hurried  salute,  lest 
he  should  be  stopped,  abused,  and 
sworn  at. 

The  earnest  man  fell  hardest  upon 
the  young;  boys  and  children  were 
favorite  victims  ;  but  his  favorites  of 
all  were  poor  Robinson  and  little 
Josephs.  These  were  at  the  head  of 
the  long  list  he  crucified,  he  parched, 
he  famished,  he  robbed  of  prayer,  of 
light,  of  rest,  and  hope.  He  disci- 
plined the  sick  ;  he  closed  the  infirma- 
ry again.  That  large  room,  furnished 
with  comforts,  nurses,  and  air,  was  an 
inconsistency, 

"  A  new  prison  is  a  collection  of 
cells,"  said  Hawes.  The  infirmary 
was  a  spot  in  the  sun.  The  exercise- 
yard  in  this  prison  was  a  twelve-box 
stable  for  creatures  concluded  to  be 
wild  beasts.  The  labor-yard  was  a 
fifteen-stall  stable  for  ditto.  The 
house  of  God  an  eighty-stalled  stable, 
into  which  the  wild  beasts  were  dis- 
persed for  public  worship  made  ])ri 
vate.  Here  in  early  dnys,  before 
Hawes  was  ripe,  they  assembled  apart 
and  repeated  prayers  ;  and  sang  hymns 
on  Sunday,     But  Hawes  found  out 


148 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


that,  ihoujrli  the  men  were  stabled 
apart,  tlieir  voices  were  refractory  aiul 
miii<i:KMl  in  the  air,  and  with  tlieir 
voices  their  hearts  mi^^ht,  who  knows  ? 
He  pointed  this  ont  to  tlie  jnstices, 
who  shook  their  sknlls  and  stopped 
the  men's  responses  and  hymns. 
These  animals  eut  the  choruses  out 
of  the  En«:lish  liturp-y  with  as^Iittle 
ceremony  and  as  f;ood  effect  as  they 
would  have  cut  the  choruses  out  of 
Handel's  "  Messiah,"  if  the  theory 
they  were  workinji^  had  been  a  mu- 
sical instead  of  a  moral  one. 

So  far  so  j^ood ;  but  the  infirmary 
liad  escaped  Justice  Shallow  and  Jus- 
tice Woodcock.  Hawes  abolished 
that. 

Discipline  before  all.  Not  because 
a  fellow  is  sick  is  he  to  break  disci- 
pline. 

So  the  sick  lay  in  their  narrow  cells 
gaspinj^  in  vain  for  fresh  air,  gaspinj; 
in  vain  for  some  cooling  drink,  or 
some  little  simple  delicacy  to  incite 
their  enfeebled  appetite. 

The  dying  were  locked  up  at  the 
fixed  hour  for  locking  up,  and  found 
dead  at  the  fixed  hour  for  opening. 
How  they  had  died  —  no  one  knew. 
At  what  fiour  they  had  died  —  no  one 
knew.  Whether  in  some  choking 
struggle  a  human  hand  might  have 
saved  them  by  changing  a  suffocating 
])OMtion  or  the  like  —  no  one  knew. 

But  this  all  knew,  —  that  these  our 
sinful  brethren  had  died,  not  like  men, 
but  like  vultures  in  the  great  desert. 
They  were  separated  from  their  kith 
and  kin,  who,  however  brutal,  would 
have  said  a  kind  word  and  done  a 
tender  thing  or  two  for  them  at  that 
awful  hour  ;  and  nothing  allowed 
them  in  ex<hange,  not  even  the  rou- 
tine attenriotis  of  a  prison  nurse;  they 
were  in  darkness  and  alone  when  the 
king  of  terrors  came  to  them  and 
wre«<tled  with  them  :  all  men  had 
turned  their  barks  on  them,  no  crea- 
ture near  to  wipe  the  dews  of  death, 
to  put  a  cool  hand  to  the  brow,  or 
soften  the  intensity  of  the  last  sad 
sigh  that  carried  their  souls  from 
earth.     Thus  they  passed  away,  pun- 


ished lawlessly  by  the  law  till  they 
succumbed,  and  then,  since  they  were 
no  longer  food  for  torture,  ignored  l)y 
the  law  and  abandoned  by  the  human 
race. 

They  locked  uj>  one  dying  man  at 
eight  o'clock.  At  midnight  the  tliirst 
of  death  came  on  him.  He  prayed 
for  a  drop  of  water,  but  there  was 
none  to  hear  him.  Parched  and  gasp- 
ing, the  miserable  man  <!ot  out  of  hed 
and  groped  and  gro])ed  for  his  tin 
mug,  but  before  he  could  drink  the 
death  ajzony  seized  him.  When  they 
unlocked  him  in  the  morning  they 
ffound  him  a  corjise  on  the  floor,  with 
Uhe  nnig  in  his  hand  and  the  water 
spilled  on  the  floor.  They  wn  nehed 
the  prison  pro})erty  out  of  its  dead 
hand,  and  flung  the  carcass  itself  upon 
the  bed  as  if  it  had  been  the  clay  cast 
of  a  dog,  not  the  remains  of  a  man. 

All  was  of  a  piece.  IHw  living  tor- 
tured ;  the  dying  abandoned  ;  the 
dead  kicked  (uit  of  the  way.  Of  these 
three,  the  living  wei-e  the  most  unfort- 
unate, and  among  the  living  Robin- 
son and  Josephs.  Never  since  the 
days  of  Cain  was  existence  made 
more  bitter  to  two  hapless  creaiures 
than  to  these,  —  above  all  to  Josephs. 

His  day  began  thus  :  —  Between 
breakfast  and  dinner  he  was  set  five 
thousand  revolutions  ofa  heavy  crank  ; 
when  he  could  not  do  it  his  dinner 
was  taken  away  and  a  few  crumbs  of 
bread  and  a  can  of  water  given  him 
instead.  Between  his  brcad-and-wa- 
tcr  tinieand  six  o'clock  if  the  (amished, 
worn-out  lad  could  not  do  five  thou- 
sand more  revolutions,  ami  make  up 
the  previous  deficiency,  he  was  pun- 
ished <iil  libitum.  As  the  whole  tiling 
from  first  to  last  was  beyond  Ids  jiow- 
ers,  he  never  succeeded  in  performing 
these  preposterous  tasks.  He  was 
threatened,  vilified,  and  tortured  every 
day  and  every  hour  of  it. 

Human  beings  can  bear  great  suf- 
ferings if  you  give  them  periods  of 
ease  between;  and  beneficent  Nature 
allows  for  this,  ami  when  she  means 
us  to  surter  short  of  death  she  lashes 
us  at  intervals ;  were  it  otherwise  we 


"IT   IS  NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


149 


should  succumb  under  a  tithe  of  what 
we  suffer  intermittently. 

But  Hawes,  besides  his  cruelty,  was 
a  noodle.  He  belon<red  to  a  knot  of 
theorists  into  whose  hands  the  Eng- 
lish jails  are  fast  fallinj^,  —  a  set  of 
shallow  dreamers,  who,  beini;  greater 
dunces  and  greater  asses  than  four 
men  out  of  every  six  that  pass  you  in 
Fleet  Street  or  Broadway  at  any  hour, 
think  themselves  wiser  than  Nature 
and  her  Author.  Josephs  suifered 
body  and  spirit  without  intermission. 
The  result  was  that  his  flesh  withered 
on  his  bones  ;  his  eyes  were  dim  and 
seemed<jto  lie  at  the  bottom  of  two 
caverns";  he  crawled  stiffly  and  slowly 
instead  of  walking.  He  was  not  six- 
teen years  of  age,  yet  Hawes  had  ex- 
tinguished his  youth  and  blotted  out 
all  its  signs  but  one.  Had  you  met 
this  figure  in  the  street  you  would 
have  said :  — 

"  What,  an  old  man  and  no 
beard  ?  " 

One  day  as  Robinson  happened  to 
be  washing  the  corridor  with  his 
beaver  up,  what  he  took  for  a  small, 
but  aged  man  passed  him,  shambling 
stitfly,  with  joints  stiffened  by  per- 
petual crucifixion  and  rheumatism, 
that  had  ensued  from  perpetually  be- 
ing wetted  through.  This  figure 
had  his  beaver  down :  at  sight  of 
Robinson  he  started,  and  instantly 
went  down  on  his  knee,  and  untied 
both  shoestrings ;  then,  while  tying 
them  again  slowly,  he  whispered,  — 

"  Robinson,  I  am  Josephs ;  don't 
look  towards  me." 

Robinson,  scrubbing  the  wall  with 
more  vigor  than  before,  whispered, 
"  How  are  they  using  you  now,  boy "?  " 

"  Hush  !  don't  speak  so  loud.  Rob- 
inson, they  are  killing  me." 

"  The  ruffians  !  They  are  trying 
all  they  know  to  kill  me  too." 

"  Fry  coming." 

"  Hist !  "  said  Robinson,  as  Josephs 
crept  away  ;  and,  bavins:  scraped  off  a 
grain  of  whitewash  with  his  nail,  he 
made  a  little  white  mark  on  his  trouser, 
just  above  his  calf,  for  Josephs  to 
know  him  by,  should  they  meet  next 


time  with  visors  both  down.  Josephs 
gave  a  slight  and  rapid  signal  of  in- 
telligence as  he  disappeared.  Two 
days  after  this  they  met  on  the  stair- 
case. 'I'lie  boy,  who  now  looked  at 
every  prisoner's  trousers  for  the  white 
mark,  recognized  Robinson  at  some 
distance,  and  began  to  speak  before 
they  met. 

"  I  can't  go  on  much  longer  like 
this." 

"  No  more  can  I." 

"  I  shall  go  to  father." 

"  Why,  where  is  he  V 

"  He  'is  dead." 

"  I  don't  care  how  soon  I  go  there 
either,  but  not  till  I  have  sent  Hawes 
on  before,  —  not  for  all  the  world. 
Pass  me,  and  then  come  back." 

They  met  again. 

"  Keep  up  your  heart,  boy,  till  his 
reverence  gets  well,  or  goes  to  heaven. 
If  he  lives  he  will  save  us  somehow. 
If  he  dies,  —  I  '11  tell  you  a  secret.  I 
know  where  there  is  a  brick  I  think  I 
can  loosen.  I  mean  to  smash  that 
beast's  skull  with  it,  and  then  you 
will  be  all  right,  and  my  heart  will 
feel  like  a  prince." 

"  Oh !  don't  do  that,"  said  Josephs, 
piteously.  "  Better  for  us  he  should 
murder  us  than  we  him." 

"  Murder  !  "  cried  Robinson,  con- 
temptuously. And  there  was  no  time 
to  say  any  more. 

After  this  many  days  passed  before 
these  two  could  get  a  syllable  togeth- 
er. But  one  day  after  chapel,  as  the 
men  were  being  told  off  to  their  sev- 
eral tasks,  Robinson  recognized  the 
boy  by  his  figure,  and,  jogging  his  el- 
bow, withdrew  a  little  apart ;  Josephs 
followed  him,  and  this  time  Robinson 
was  the  first  speaker.  • 

"  We  shall  never  see  Mr,  Eden 
alive  again,  boy,"  said  he,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice.  Then  in  a  low,  gloomy 
tone  he  muttered  :  "  I  have  loosened 
the  brick  :  the  day  I  lo'^e  all  hope, 
that  day  I  send  Hawes  home,"  And. 
the  thief  pointed  towards  the  cellar. 

"  The  day  you  have  no  more  hope, 
Robinson  ?'that  day  has  come  to  me 
this  fortnight  and  more.     He  tells  mo 


150 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


every  day  he  will  make  my  life  hell  to 
me,  and  I  am  sure  it  has  been  nothing 
else  ever  since  I  came  here." 

"  Keep  up  your  heart,  boy ;  he 
hasn't  lon<r  to  live." 

"  He  will  live  too  lonj^  for  me.  I 
can't  stay  here  any  longer.  You  and 
I  sha'n't  often  cluit  together  again  ; 
perhaps  never." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  laddie.  Keep  up 
your  heart,  —  for  my  sake." 

One  bitter,  tearing  sob  was  all  the 
reply.     And  so  these  two  parted. 

This  was  just  after  breakfast.  At 
dinner-time  Josci)hs,  not  having  per- 
formed an  impossible  task,  was  robbed 
of  his  dinner.  A  little  bread  and  wa- 
ter was  served  out  to  him  in  the  yard, 
and  he  was  set  on  the  crank  again 
with  fearful  menaces.  In  particular, 
Mr.  Ilawes  repeated  his  favorite 
threat,  —  "I  '11  make  your  life  hell  to 
you."  Josephs  groaned ;  but  what 
could  a  boy  of  fifteen  do,  over-tasked 
and  famished  for  a  month  past,  and 
fitter  now  for  a  hospital  than  for  hard 
labor  of  any  sort  ?  At  three  o'clock 
his  progress  on  the  crank  was  so  slow 
that  Mr.  Hawes  ordered  him  to  be 
crucified  on  the  spot. 

His  obedient  myrmidons  for  the 
fiftieth  time  seized  the  lad  and  cruslied 
him  in  the  jacket,  throttled  him  in 
the  collar,  and  pinned  him  to  the 
wall,  and  this  time,  the  first  time  for 
a  long  while,  the  prisoner  remonstrat- 
ed loudly. 

"  Why  not  kill  me  at  once  and  put 
me  out  of  my  misery  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue." 

"  You  know  I  can't  do  the  task  3'ou 
set  me.     You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  insolent 
young  villain.  Strap  him  tighter, 
Fry." 

*'  O  no  !  no  !  no  !  don't  go  to  strap 
me  tiiihter,  or  you  will  cut  me  in  half, 
—  don't,  Mr.  Fry.  I  will  hold  my 
ton^:iie,  sir."  Then  be  turned  his 
lioUow,  mournful  eyes  on  Hawes  and 
said  gently :  "  It  can't  last  much 
longer,  you  know." 

"It  shall  last  till  I  break  you,  you 
obstinate    whining    dog.     You    are 


hardly  used,  are  you  ?  Wait  till  to- 
morrow, I  '11  show  you  that  I  have  only 
been  playing  with  you  as  yet  But  I 
have  got  a  punishment  in  store  for 
vou  that  will  make  you  wish  you  were 
in  hell." 

Hawes  .  stood  over  the  martyr, 
fiercely  threatening  him.  The  martyr 
shut  his  eyes.  It  seemed  as  thou'jh 
the  enraged  Hawes  would  end  by 
striking  him.  He  winced  with  his 
eyes.  He  could  not  wince  with  any 
other  part  of  his  body,  so  tight  was  it 
jammed  together,  and  jammed  against 
the  wall. 

Hawes  however  did  but  repeat  his 
threat  of  some  new  torture  on  the 
morrow  that  should  far  eclipse  all  he 
had  yet  endured  ;  and,  shnking  his  fist 
at  his  helpless  body,  left  him  with  his 
torture. 

One  hour  of  bitter,  racking,  unre- 
mitting anguish  had  hardly  rolled 
over  this  young  head, -ere  his  frame, 
weakened  by  famine  and  })erpctual 
violence,  began  to  give  the  usual  signs 
that  he  would  soon  sham,  —  swoon  we 
call  it  when  it  occurs  to  any  but  a 
prisoner.  As  my  readers  have  never 
been  in  Mr.  Hawcs's  man-press,  and 
as  attempts  have  been  made  to  impose 
on  the  inexperience  of  the  public,  and 
represent  the  man-press  as  restriction, 
not  torture,  I  will  shortly  explain  why 
sooner  or  later  all  the  men  that  were 
crucified  in  it  ended  by  shamming. 

Were  you  ever  seized  at  night  with 
a  violent  cramp  ?  then  you  have  in- 
stantly, with  a  sort  of  wild  and  alarmed 
rapidity,  changed  the  posture  which 
had  cramped  you ;  ay,  though  the 
night  was  ever  so  cold  you  have 
sj)rung  out  of  bed  sooner  than  lie 
cramped.  If  the  cramp  would  not  go 
in  less  than  half  a  minute,  that  half- 
minute  was  long  and  bitter.  As  for 
existing  cramped  half  an  hour,  -that 
you  never  thought  p<)>;sible.  Imagine 
now  the  severest  cramp  yon  ever  felt 
artificially  prolonged  for  hours  and 
hours,  imagine  yourself  crantpcd  in 
a  vice,  no  j)art  of  you  movable  a  hair's- 
breadth,  except  your  hair  and  your 
eyelids.      Imagine   the   fierce   cramp 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


151 


g-rowinj^  and  p;rowin^,  and  rising  like 
a  tide  of  apony  hij^her  and  higher 
above  nature's  endurance,  *and  you 
will  cease  to  wondor  that  a  man  al- 
ways sunk  under  Hawcs's  man-press. 
Now  then  add  to  the  cramp  a  high 
circular  saw  raking  the  thruat,  jacket 
straps  cutting  and  burniiii,'-  the  flesh 
of  the  back,  — add  to  this  the  freezing 
of  the  blood  in  the  body  deprived  so 
long  of  all  motion  whatever  (for  mo- 
tion of  some  sort  or  degree  is  a  con- 
dition of  vitality),  and  a  new  and 
far  more  rational  wonder  arises,  that 
any  man  could  be  half  an  hour  cut, 
sawed,  crushed,  cramped,  Mazeppa'd 
thus,  without  sliaraining,  —  still  less 
be  four,  six,  eight  hours  in  it,  and 
come  out  a  living  man. 

The  young  martyr's  lips  were  turn- 
ing blue,  his  face  was  twitching  con- 
vulsively, wlien  a  word  was  unex- 
pectedly put  in  for  him  by  a  by- 
stander. 

The  turnkey  Evans  had  been  half 
sullenly,  half  sorrowfully  watching 
him  for  some  minutes  past. 

A  month  or  two  ago  the  lips  of  a 
prisoner  turning  blue,  and  his  skin 
twitihing,  told  Evans  nothing.  He 
saw  these  things  without  seeing  them. 
He  was  cruel  I'rom  stupidity,  —  from 
blockhead  to  butcher  there  is  but  a 
step.  Like  the  English  public  he 
realized  nothing  where  prisoners  were 
concerned.  But  Mr.  Eden  had 
awakened  his  intelligence,  and  his 
heart  waked  with  it  naturally. 

Now  when  he  saw  lips  turning  blue 
and  eyes  rolling  in  sad  despair,  and 
skin  twitcliing  convulsively,  it  oc- 
curred to  him,  "  This  creature  must 
be  suffering  very  badly,"  and  the  next 
step  was,  "  let  me  see  what  is  hurt- 
ing him  so." 

Evans  now  stood  over  Josephs  and 
examined  him.  "  Mr.  Fry,  "said  he, 
doggedly,  "  is  not  this  overdoing  it  ?" 

'*  What  d'  ye  mean  ?  we  arc  to  obey 
orders,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  but  there  Wiis  no  need 
to  draw  the  jacket  straps  so  tight  as 
all  this.  Boy's  bellows  can't  hardly 
work  for  'em." 


Ho  now  passed  his  hand  round  the 
hollow  of  the  lad's  back. 

"  I  thought  so,"  cried  he;  "I  can't 
get  my  finger  between  the  straps  and 
the  poor  fellow's  flesh,  and,  good  heav- 
ens, I  can  feel  the  skin  rising  like  a 
ridge  on  each  side  of  the  straps  ;  it 
is  a  black,  burning  shame  to  use  any 
Christian  like  this." 

These  words  were  hardly  out  of  the 
turnkey's  mouth  when  a  startling  cry 
came  suddenly  from  poor  Josephs,  — 
a  sudden,  wild,  jiiercing  scream  of 
misery.  In  that  bitter,  despairing  cry 
burst  out  the  pent-up  anguish  of 
weeks,  and  the  sense  of  injustice  and 
cruelty  more  than  human.  The  poor 
thing  gave  this  one  terrible*  cry. 
Heaven  forbid  that  you  should  hear 
such  a  one  in  life,  as  I  hear  his  in  my 
heart,  and  then  he  fell  to  sobbing  as 
if-liis  whole  frame  would  burst. 

They  were  not  much,  these  rough 
words  of  sympathy,  but  they  were  the 
first,  —  the  first  words  too  of  human- 
ity and  reason  a  turnkey  had  spoken 
in  his  favor  since-  he  came  into  this 
hell.  Above  all,  the  first  in  which  it 
had  ever  been  hinted  or  implied  that 
his  flesh  was  human  flesh.  The  next 
moment  he  began  to  cry,  but  that  was 
not  so  easy.  He  soon  lost  his  breath 
and  could  n't  cry,  though  his  very  life 
depended  on  it.  Tears  give  relief. 
Dame  Nature  said,  "  Cry,  my  suffering 
son,  cry  now,  and  relieve  that  heart 
swelling  with  cruelty  and  wrong." 

But  Hawes's  infernal  machine  said  : 
"  No,  you  shall  not  cry.  I  give  you 
no  room  to  cry  in."  The  cruel 
straps  jammed  him  so  close  his  swell- 
ing heart  could  hut  half  heave.  The 
jagged  collar  bit  his  throat  so  hard 
he  could  but  give  three  or  four  sobs 
and  then  the  next  choked  him.  The 
strug<rle  between  Nature  panting  and 
writhing  for  relief  and  the  infernal 
man-press  was  so  bitter  strong  that 
the  boy  choked  and  blackened  and 
gasped  as  one  in  the  last  agony. 

"  Undo  hitn,"  cried  Evans,  hasti- 
ly, "  or  we  shall  kill  him  amongst  us." 

"Bucket,"  said  the  experienced 
Fry,  quite  coolly. 


152 


"IT  IS, NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/' 


Tha  backet  was*' at  hand;  its  con- 
tents were  iiistatitly  discharged  over 
Josfphs's  head. 

A  cry  like  a  dying  hare,  —  two  or 
three  violent  gasps,  —  and  he  was 
quiut,  all  but  a  strong  shiver  that 
]>assed  iVom  liead  to  foot ;  oidy,  with 
the  water  that  now  trickled  from  his 
hair  down  his  face,  scalding  tears 
from  his  young  eyes  fell  to  the  ground 
undistinguished  from  the  water  by 
any  (.ye  but  God's. 

At  six  o'clock  Hawes  came  into 
the  yard  and  ordered  Fry  to  take  him 
down.  Fry  took  this  opportunity  of 
informing  against  Evans  for  his  mild 
interference. 

"  He  will  pny  for  that  along  with 
the  rest,"  said  Hawes,  with  an  oath. 

Then  he  turned  on  Josephs,  who 
halted  stiffly  by  him  on  his  way  to  his 
cell. 

*'  I  '11  make  your  life  hell  to  you, 
you  young  vagabond,  —  you  are  hard- 
ly used,  are  you  ?  all  you  have  ever 
known  is  n't  a  stroke  with  a  feather 
to  what  I  '11  make  you  know  by  and 
by.  Wait  till  to-morrow  comes,  you 
shall  see  what  I  can  do  when  I  am 
put  to  it." 

Jose|)hs  sobbed,  but  answered  noth- 
ing, and  crawled  sore,  stitf,  drijjping, 
shivering  to  his  cell.  In  that  mis- 
erable hole  he  would  at  least  be  at 
peace. 

lie  found  the  gas  lighted.  He  was 
glad,  for  he  was  drenched  through 
and  bitterly  cold.  He  crept  up  to 
the  little  gas-light  and  put  his  dead- 
white  hands  over  it  ami  got  a  little 
warmth  into  them  ;  he  blessed  this 
spark  of  liy:ht  and  warmth ;  he 
looked  lovingly  down  on  it,  it  was 
his  only  friend  in  the  jail,  his  com- 
])anion  in  the  desolate  cell.  lie 
wished  he  could  gather  it  into  his  bo- 
som ;  then  it  would  warm  his  heart 
and  his  b!iuht<d  flesh  and  aching, 
shivering  bones. 

While  he  hung  shivering  over  his 
spark  of  lii;ht  and  warmth  and  com- 
fort, a  key  was  put  into  his  door. 
"All!  here's  sujiper,"  thouirht  he, 
**  and  I  am  so  hungry."     It  was  not 


supper,  it  was  Fry  who  came  in 
empty-handed  leaving  the  door  open. 
Fry  wetK  to  his  gas-liuht  ami  put  his 
liji;x*"r  and  thumb  on  tiu-  screw. 

"  (),  it  burns  all  ri^ht.  Mr.  Fry," 
said  Josephs,  "  it  won't  go  any  high- 
er, thank  you." 

•'  No,  it  won't,"  said  Fry,  dryly, 
and  turned  it  out,  leaving  the  cell  in 
utter  darkness. 

"  There,  I  told  you  so,"  said  Jo- 
sephs, pettishly  ;  "  now  you  have  been 
and  turned  it  out." 

**  Yes,  I  have  been  and  turned  it 
out,"  replied  Fry,  with  a  brutal  laugh, 
"  and  it  won't  he  turned  on  again  for 
fourteen  days,  so  the  governor  says, 
however,  and  I  su])pose  he  knows  "  ; 
an<l  Fry  went  out  t  hucklitig. 

Josephs  burst  out  sobliing  and  al- 
most screaming  at  this  last  stroke  ;  it 
seemed  to  hurt  him  more  than  his 
flercer  tortures.  He  sobbed  so  wildly 
and  so  loud,  that  Mr.  Jones,  jiassingon 
the  opposite  corridor,  heard  him  and 
beckoned  to  Evans  to  open  the  cell. 

They  found  the  boy  standing  in  the 
middle  of  his  dungeon,  shaking  with 
cold  in  his  drenched  clothes,  and  sob- 
bing with  his  whole  body.  It  was 
frij:htful  to  see  and  hear  the  agony 
and  desj)aii-  of  one  so  young  in  years, 
so  old  in  misery. 

Ml'.  Jones  gave  him  words  of  com- 
monplace consolation.  Mr.  Jones 
tried  to  persuade  him  that  patience 
was  the  best  cure. 

"  Be  patient,  and  do  not  irritate  the 
governor  any  more,  —  the  storm  will 
pass." 

lie  seemed  to  Josephs  as  one  that 
moeketh.  Jones's  were  such  liitle 
words  to  fling  in  the  face  of  a  ;:reat 
despair;  to  chatter  unreasonable  con- 
solation was  to  mock  his  unutterable 
misery  of  soul  and  body. 

Mr  Jones  was  one  of  those  who 
sprinkle  a  burninir  mountain  with  a 
teaspoonful  of  milk  and  water,  and 
th(Mi  go  away  and  make  sure  they 
have  ])ut  it  out.  When  he  was  gone 
with  this  impression,  Evans  took 
down  the  boy's  bed  and  said  :  — 

"Don't  ye'  cry  now  like    that;  it 


IT  IS  NEVEE  TOO  LAT 


makes  me  ill  to  hear  any  Christian 
cry  like  that." 

"  O  Mr.  Evans  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 
"Whit  have  I  done  ?  O  my  mother  ! 
my  mother !  my  mother  !  " 

Evans  winced.  What !  had  he  a 
mother,  too  ?  If  she  could  see  him 
now  !  and  perhaps  he  was  her  darling, 
though  he  was  a  prisoner.  He  shook 
the  bedclothes  out  and  took  hold  of 
the  shiverin<^  boy,  and  with  kind  force 
m  ide  him  lie  down  ;  then  he  twisted 
the  clothes  ti<;lit  round  him. 

"You  will  get  warm,  if  you  will  but 
lie  quiet  and  not  think  about  it." 

Josephs  did  what  he  was  bid.  He 
could  not  still  his  sobs,  but  he  turned 
his  mournful  eyes  on  Evans  with  a 
look  of  wonder  at  meeting  with  kind- 
ness from  a  human  being,  and  half 
doubtingly  put  out  his  hand.  So 
then  Evans,  to  comfort  him,  took  his 
hand  and  shook  it  several  times  in  his 
hard  palm,  and  said :  — 

"  Good  night.  You  '11  soon  get 
warm,  and  don't  think  of  it,  —  that  is 
the  best  way"  ;  ami  Evans  ran  away 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  for  the 
look  of  astonishment  the  boy  wore  at 
his  humanity  went  through  the  man's 
penitent  heart  like  an  arrow. 

Josephs  lay  quiet,  and  his  sobs  began 
gradually  to  go  down,  and,  as  Evans 
had  predicted,  some  little  warmth  be- 
gan to  steal  over  his  frame ;  but  he 
could  not  comply  with  all  Evans's  in- 
structions ;  he  could  not  help  thinking 
of  it.  For  all  that,  as  soon  as  he  got 
a  little  warm,  Nature,  who  knew  how 
much  her  tortured  son  needed  repose, 
began  to  weigh  down  his  eyelids,  and 
he  dozed.  He  often  started,  he  often 
murmured  a  prayer  for  pity  as  his 
mind  acted  over  again  the  scenes  of 
his  miserable  existence ;  but  still  he 
dozed,  and  sleep  was  stealing  over 
him.  Sleep!  life's  nurse  sent  from 
heaven  to  create  us  anew  day  by  day  ! 
—  Sleep!  that  has  blunted  and  grad- 
ually cured  a  hundred  thousand  sor- 
rows for  one  that  has  yielded  to  any 
moral  remedy  —  Sleep !  that  has 
blunted  and  so  cured  by  degrees  a 
million  fleshly  ills  for  one  that  drugs 
7* 


or  draughts  nS'ife  ever  rea'<»hed,  — 
Sleep  had  her  arm  round  this  poor 
child  and  was  drawing  him  gently, 
gently,  slowly,  slowly,  to  her  bosom, 
—  when  suddenly  his  cell  seemed  to 
him  to  be  all  in  a  blaze,  and  a  rough 
hand  shook  him,  and  a  harsh  voice 
sounded  in  his  ear. 

"  Come,  get  up  out  of  that,  young- 
ster," it  said  ;  and  the  hand  almost 
jerked  him  off"  the  floor. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  inquired 
Josephs,  yawning. 

"  Matter  is,  I  want  your  bed," 

Josephs  rose,  half  stupid,  and 
Hodges  rolled  up  his  bed  and  blanket. 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  rob  me 
of  my  bed  1 "  inquired  Josephs,  slowly 
and  flrmly. 

"  Rob  you,  you  young  dog  ?  Here 
is  the  governor's  order.  No  bed  and 
gas  for  fourteen  days." 

"  No  bed  nor  gas  for  fourteen  days  ! 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  0,  you  laugh  at  that,  do  you  1 " 

"  1  laugh  at  Mr.  Hawes  thinking  to 
keep  me  out  of  bed  for  fourteen  days, 
a  poor  worn-out  boy  like  me.  You 
tell  Hawes  I  '11  find  a  bed  in  spite  of 
him  long  before  fourteen  days." 

Hodges  looked  about  the  cell  for 
this  other  bed, 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  you  must  n't 
chaff"  the  officers.  The  governor 
will  serve  you  out  enough  without 
your  giving  us  any  of  your  sau(;e."  : 

Hodges  was  going  with  the  bed. 
Josephs  stopped  him.  The  boy  took 
this  last  blow  quite  differently  from 
the  gas  ;  no  impatience  or  burst  of 
sorrosv  now. 

"  Won't  you  bid  me  good  by,  Mr. 
Hodires  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Why  not  ?     Good  night." 

"  That  is  n't  what  I  mean.  Mr. 
Evans  gave  me  his  hand." 

"  Did  he  ?  what  for  ?  " 

"  And  so  must  you.  O,  you  may 
as  well,  Mr.  Hodges.  I  never  cama 
to  you  and  took  away  your  little  bit 
of  light  and  your  little  hit  of  sleep. 
So  you  can  take  my  hand  if  I  can 
give  it  you.  You  will  be  sorry  after- 
wards if  you  say  no." 


154 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


"  There  it  is,  —  what  the  better  are 
yow  for  that,  you  younj^  fool  ?  I  '11  tell 
you  what  it  is,  you  are  turnin<r  "soft. 
I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you. 
I  shall  come  to  your  cell  the  tirst 
thin<j;-  in  the  moniin<;." 

"  Ay,  do,  Mr.  Hudj^es,"  said  Jo- 
sephs, "and  then  you  won't  be  sorry 
you  shook  hands  at  niglit." 

At  this  moment  tlie  hoy's  supper 
was  tlirust  tluouj^h  the  trap-door  ;  it 
was  not  the  supper  by  hiw  appointed, 
but  six  ounces  of  bread  and  a  can  of 
water. 

Hodges,  now  that  he  had  touched 
the  prisoner's  hand,  felt  his  first  spark 
of  s6niething  bordering  on  sympathy. 
He  looked  at  the  grub  half  ashamed, 
aiul  made  a  wry  face.  Josephs  caught 
Ills  look  and  answered  it. 

"  It  it  as  much  as  I  shall  want," 
said  he,  very  calmly,  and  he  smiled  at 
Hodges  as  he  spoke,  a  sweet  and 
tender  but  dogged  smile,  — a  smile  to 
live  in  a  man's  memory  for  years. 

The  door  was  closed  with  a  loud 
snap,  and  Josephs  was  left  to  face 
the  long  night  (it  was  now  seven 
o'clock)  in  his  wet  clothes,  which 
smoked  with  the  warmth  his  late  bed 
had  begun  to  cherish  ;  but  they  soon 
ceased  to  smoke  as  the  boy  froze. 

Night  advanced.  Josephs  walked 
about  his  little  cell,  his  teeth  chatter- 
ing, then  thing  himself  like  a  dead 
log  on  the  Hoor,  and,  finding  Ilawes's 
spirit  in  the  cold,  hard  stone,  rose 
and  crawled  shivering  to  and  fro 
again. 

Meantime  we  were  all  in  our  nice 
soft  beds  ;  such  as  found  three  blan- 
kets too  little  added  a  dressing-gown 
of  flannel,  or  print  lined  with  wad- 
ding or  fleecy  hosiery,  and  so  tnade 
shift.  In  particular  all  those  who  had 
the  care  of  Josephs  took  care  to  lie 
warm  and  soft.  Hawcs,  Jones, 
Hodges,  Fry,  Justices  Shallow  and 
Woodcock,  all  took  the  care  of  their 
own  carcasses  they  did  not  take  of  Jo- 
sephs's  youthful  frame. 

'•  Be  cold  at  night  ?  Not  if  we 
know  it  ;  why,  you  can't  sleep  if  you 
are  not  thoroughly  warm  !  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

MiDMonx  ! 

Josephs  was  crouched,  shivering, 
under  the  door  of  his  cell,  listening. 

"  All  right  now.  I  think  they  are 
all  asleep  :  now  is  the  time." 

Ilawes,  Hodges,  Jones,  Fry,  were 
snoring  without  a  thought  of  him 
tljcy  had  left  to  pass  the  Livelong 
night,  clothed  in  a  sponge,  cradled  on 
a  stone. 

DORMEZ,  MESSIEURS  !  TOUT  EST 
TRANQUILLE  ;   DORMEZ  ! 


CHAPTER    XX 

Past  one  o'clock ! 

The  moon  was  up,  but  often  ob- 
scured;  clouds  drifted  swifily  across 
her  face;  it  was  a  coM  morning, — 
past  one  o'clock.  Josephs  was  at  his 
window,  standing  tiptoe  on  his  stool. 
Thoughts  coursed  one  anotlier  acToss 
his  broken  heart  as  fa>;t  as  the  clouds 
flew  pa-<t  the  moon's  face  :  but,  what- 
ever their  nature,  the  sting  was  now 
out  of  them.  The  bitter  sense  of 
wrong  and  cruelty  was  there,  but 
blunted.  Fear  was  nearly  extinct, 
for  hope  was  dead. 

There  was  no  tumtdt  in  his  mind 
now ;  he  had  gone  through  all  that, 
and  had  got  a  step  beyond  grief  or 
pain. 

Thus  ran  his  thoughts:  "I  won- 
der what  Ilawes  was  goin<j:  to  do  t^'ith 
me  to  morrow.  Something  worse 
than  ail  I  have  gone  through,  he 
said.  Tiuit  seems  hard  to  believe. 
But  I  don't  know.  Best  not  give 
him  the  chance.  He  does  know  how 
to  torture  one.  Well,  he  must  keep 
it  for  some  other  poor  fellow.  I  hope 
it  won't  he  K()l)inson.  1  '11  have  a 
look  at  out-a-doors  first.  Ah  !  there 
is  the  moon.  I  wonder  does  she  see 
what  is  done  here  ;  and  there  is  the 
sky;  it  is  a, beautiful  ])lace.  Who 
would  stay  here  under  Hawes  if  they 
could  get  up  there  ?  viod  lives  up 
there !     I  am  almost  afraid  he  won't 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


155 


let  a  poor,  wicked  boy  like  me  come 
^herc  he  is.  And  they  say  this  is  a 
sin,  too;  lie  will  be  angry  with  me, 
—  but  I  could  n't  help  it.  'l  shall  tell 
him  what  I  went  through  first,  and 
perhaps  he  will  forgive  me.  His  rever- 
ence tuld  me  he  takes  the  part  of  those 
that  are  ill  used.  It  will  be  a  good 
job  for  me  if  't  is  so.  Perhaps  he 
will  serve  Hawes  out  for  this  instead 
of  me  ;  I  think  I  should  if  I  was  him. 
I  know  he  can't  be  so  cruel  as  Hawes  : 
that  is  my  only  chance,  and  I  'm  go- 
ing to  take  it. 

"  Some  folk  live  to  eighty ;  I  am 
only  fifteen  ;  that  is  a  long  odds.  I 
dare  say  it  is  five  times  as  long  as  fif- 
teen. It  is  hard, — but  I  can't  help 
it.  Hawes  would  n't  let  me  live  to  be 
a  man  ;  he  is  stronger  than  I  am. 
Will  it  be  a  long  job,  I  wonder. 
Some  say  it  hurts  a  good  deal ;  some 
think  not.  I  shall  soon  know,  — but 
I  shall  never  tell.  That  does  n't 
trouble  me,  it  is  Only  throttling  me 
when  all  is  done ;  and  ain't  I  throt- 
tled every  d:iy  of  my  life  1  Should  n't 
I  be  throttled  to-morrow,  if  I  was 
such  a  spoon  as  to  see  to-morrow  ?  I 
must  n't  waste  much  more  time,  or  my 
hands  will  be  crippled  with  cold,  and 
then  I  sha'  n't  be  able  to. 

"  Mr.  Evans  will  be  sorry  :  I  can't 
help  it.  Bless  him  for  being  so  good 
to  me  ;  and  bless  Mr.  Eden ;  I  hope 
he  will  get  betrer,  I  do.  My  handker- 
chief is  old,  I  hope  it  won't  break ;  O 
no!  there  is  no  fear  of  that.  I  don't 
weigh  half  what  I  did  when  I  came 
here. 

"  My  mother  will  fret,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  0  dear !  0  dear !  O  dear ! 
1  hope  some  one  will  tell  her  what  I 
went  through  first;  and  then  she  will 
say,  '  Better  so  than  for  my  body  to 
be  abused  worse  than  a  dog  every  day 
of  my  life.'  I  can't  help  it  1  and  1 
should  be  dead  any  way  before  the 
fourteen  days  were  out. 

"  Now  is  as  good  a  time  as  any 
other  ;  no  one  is  stirring,  no.  Please 
forgive  me,  mother.  I  couMn't  help 
it.  Please  forgive  me,  God  Almighty, 
\f  you  care  what  a  poor  boy  like  me 


docs  or  is  done  to,  —  I  couldn't  help 
it." 

#  #  *  #  # 

II  est  deux  iieures  ;  tout  est 

TRANQUILLE  ;  DOR3IEZ  JIaItRES, 
DOR3IEZ  ! 

« 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

It  was  a  bright  morning.  The 
world  awoke.  The  working  Eng- 
lishman, dead  drunk  at  the  public- 
house  overnight,  had  got  rid  of  two 
thirds  of  his  burning  poison  by  help 
of  man's  chief  nurse,  sleep  ;  and  now 
he  must  work  ofi"  the  rest,  grumbling 
at  this,  th^  kind  severity  of  his  lot. 
Warm  men,  respectable  men,  amongst 
whom  justices  of  the  peace  and  oth- 
er voluptuous  disciplinarians,  were 
tempted  out  of  delicious  beds  by  the 
fragrant  berry,  the  balmy  leaf,  snowy 
damask,  fire  glowing  behind  polished 
bars,  — in  short,  by  multifarious  com- 
fort set  in  a  frame  of  gold.  They 
came  down. 

"  How  did  you  sleep,  dear  sir  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  one,  with  a 
doubtful  air. 

"  Scarce  closed  my  eyes  all  night," 
snarled  another. 

Another  had  been  awoke  by  the 
barking  of  a  dog,  and  it  was  full  half 
an  hour  before  he  could  lose  the 
sense  of  luxurious  ease  in  iinconscious- 
ness  again.  He  made  an  incident  of 
this,  and  looked  round  the  table  for 
sympathy,  and  obtained  it,  especially 
from  such  as  were  toadies. 

Now,  all  these  had  slept  as  much 
as  nature  required.  No.  l,arhydy 
noS,  —  navvvxiov^  —  [ike  a  top.  No. 
2,  eight  hours  out  of  the  nine.  The 
ninth  his  sutFerings  had  been  moder- 
ate;  they  had  been  confined  to  this, 
—  a  bitter  sense  of  two  things  :  first, 
that  he  was  lyinir  floating  in  a  sea  of 
comforts  ;  secondly,  that,  the  moment 
he  should  really  need  sleep,  sleep  was 
at  his  service. 

In    Jail,   governor,  turnkeys, 

chaplain,  having  had  something  to  do 
the  day  before,  slept  among  Class   1, 


156 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


and  now  turned  out  of  their  warm 
bt'ils  as  they,  had  turned  into  tliein, 
without  a  shade  of  anxiety,  or  even 
recollection  of  him  wiioin  they  had 
left  last  evenini^  at  eiy:ht  to  pass  tlie 
livelong  night  in  a  sponge  —  upon  a 
stone. 

Uprose,  refreshed  with  sleep,  that 
zealous  officer,  Hawes.  He  was  in 
the  prison  at  dayhreak,  and  circulated 
with  inspecting  eye  all  throuj^h  it. 
Went  into  the  kitchen,  —  saw  the 
gruel  making, — docked  Josephs  and 
three  more  of  half  their  allowance ; 
then  into  the  corridors,  where  on  one 
of  the  snowy  walls  he  found  a  speck  ; 
swore  ;  had  it  instantly  removed. 
Thence  into  the  labor-yard,  and  ])re- 
pared  a  crank  for  an  athletic  prisoner 
by  secretly  introducing  a  weight,  and 
so  making  the  poor  crank  a  story-tell- 
er, and  the  prologue  to  punishment, 
lleturning  to  the  hody  of  the  prison, 
he  called  out,  "  Prisoners  on  the  list 
for  hard  labor  to  be  taken  to  the 
yard." 

He  was  not  answered  with  the  usual 
alacrity,  and  looked  up  to  npeat  his 
summons,  when  he  observed  a  cell 
open,  and  two  turnkeys  standing  in 
earnest  conversation  at  the  door.  He 
mounted  the  stairs  in  ^reat  heat. 

"  What  are  you  all  humbngging 
there  for,  and  why  does  not  that 
young  rascal  turn  out  to  work  ?  I  'il 
physic  him, him  !  " 

The  turnkeys  looked  in  their 
chief's  face  with  a  stratige  expression 
of  stupid  wonder.  Hawes  caught 
this,  —  his  wrath  rose  higher. 

"  What  d'  ye  stand  staring  at  me 
like  stuck  pigs  for  ?     Come  out.  No. 

15.      you    all!     why    don't   you 

bring  him   ont   to  the   crank  ?  " 

llod;:es  answered  ;^loomily  from  the 
cell,  "  Come  and  bring  him  yourself, 
if  you  can." 

At  such  an  address  from  a  ttinikey, 
Hawes,  who  had  now  mounted  the 
last  stair,  trave  a  snort  of  surprise  and 
wrath  ;  then  darted  into  the  cell, 
threatening  the  most  horrible  ven- 
geance on  the  l)ones  and  body  of  poor 
Josephs,  threats  which  he  coulirmed 


with  a  tremendous  oath.  But  to  that 
oath  succeeded  a  sud<len  dead  sinpid 
staring  silence ;  for  running'  tiercely 
into  the  cell  with  ra;;e  in  his  face, 
threats  and  curses  on  his  ton<:ue,  he 
had  almost  stumbled  over  a  corpse. 

It  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  cell, — 
stark  and  cold,  but  peaceful.  Hawes 
stood  over  it.  If  he  had  not  stopped 
short,  his  foot  would  have  l)een  upon 
it.  His  mouth  ()])ened,  but  no  sound 
came.  He  stood  j)aralyzed.  A  great- 
er than  he  was  in  that  cell,  and  he 
was  dumb.  He  looked  up,  —  Hodges 
and  Fry  were  standing  silent,  looking 
down  on  the  body.  Fry  was  grave  : 
Hodges  trembled.  Part  of  a  handker- 
chief fluttered  irom  the  l)ar  of  the  win- 
dow. A  knife  had  severed  it.  Tlie 
other  fragment  lay  on  tlie  floor  near 
the  body  where  Hodges  had  dropped 
it.  Hawes  took  this  in  at  a  glance, 
and  com j)re bended  it  all.  -This  was 
not  the  Hrst  or  second  prisoner  that 
had  escaped  him  hy  a  sinnlar  road. 
For  a  moment  his  tdood  froze  in  him. 
He  wished  to  Heaven  he  had  not  heeii 
so  severe  upon  the  poor  boy. 

It  was  l)ut  for  a  moment.  The 
next  he  steeled  himself  in  the  tremen- 
dous e;^oiism  that  lu'lunj^s  to  and 
makes  the  deliberate  man-slayer. 

"  The  youn;j:  viper  has  done  tliis  to 
spite  me,"  said  he.  And  he  a(  tually 
cast  a  look  of  petulant  anger  down. 

At  this  preci-e  point  the  miiuls  tliat 
had  borne  his  company  so  lon;x  began 
to  part  from  it.  Fry  lookcil  in  his 
face  with  an  expression  bordering  on 
open  coniem|)t,  and  Hodges  shoved 
rudely  by  him  and  left  the  cell. 

Hodges  leaned  over  the  corridor  in 
silence.  Due  of  the  inferioi-  ttunkeys 
asked  him  a  (juestion,  dictated  by  cu- 
riosity, about  the  situation  in  which  he 
had  lound  the  body.  ''  Don't  speak 
tome!"  was  the  fierce,  wild  answer. 
And  he  looked  with  a  stupid,  wiM 
stare  over  the  railings. 

So  wild  ami  white  and  stricken  was 
this  man's  face,  that  Kvans,  who  was 
exchanging  some  words  with  a  gentle- 
man on  the  basement  floor,  happening 
to  catch  sight  of  it,  interrupted  hira- 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   xMEND.' 


157 


self  and  hallooed  from  below,  "  What, 
is  there  anything  tlie  matter,  Hodges^" 
Hodges  made  no  reply.  The  man 
seemed  to  have  lost  his  speech  for 
some  time  past. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman ;  and  he  ascended  the  steps 
somewhat  feebly,  accompanied  by 
Evans.        , 

"  What  is  it,  Hodges  ?"—  "  What 
is  it?  "  answered  the  man,  impatient- 
ly. "  Go  in  there  and  you  '11  see  what 
it  is ! " 

"  I  don't  like  this,  sir,"  said  Evans. 
"  Oh  !  I  am  fearful  there  is  something 
unfortunate  has  happened.  You 
must  n't  come  in,  sir.  You  stay  here, 
and  I'll  go  in  and  see."  He  entered 
the  cell. 

Meantime  a  short  conference  had 
passed  between  Hawes  and  Fry. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,  Fry." 

"  And  no  mistake." 

"  Had  you  any  idea  of  this  ?  " 

"  No  !  can't  say  I  had." 

"  If  the  parson  ever  gets  well,  he 
will  make  this  a  handle  to  ruin  you 
and  me."  —  "Me,  sir!  I  only  obey 
orders." 

"  That  won't  save  you.  If  they 
get  the  better  of  me,  you  will  suffer 
along  with  me." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder.  I  told  you 
you  were  carrying  it  too  far,  but  you 
would  n't  listen  to  me." 

"  I  was  wrong,  Fry.  I  ought  to 
have  listened  to  you,  for  you  are  the 
only  one  that  is  faithful  to  me  in  the 
jaii." 

"  I  know  my  duty,  sir,  and  I  try  to 
do  it." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  him, 
Fry  ?  " 

*'  Well,  I  don't  think  he  ought  to 
lie  on  the  floor.  I  'd  let  him  have  his 
bed  now,  I  think." 

"  You  are  right.  I  'U  send  for  if. 
Ail !  here  is  Evans.  Go  for  No.  15's 
bed." 

Evans,  standing  at  the  door,  had 
caught  but  a  glimpse  of  the  object  that 
lay  on  the  floor,  but  that  glimpse  was 
enough.  He  went  out  and  said  to 
Hodges  :  "  Was  n't  it  you  that  took 


Josephs's  bed  away  last  night  ?  "  The 
man  cowered  undtr  the  question. 
"  Well,  you  are  to  go  and  fetch  it  back, 
the  governor  says."  Hudges  Avcnt 
away  for  it  without  a  word.  Evans 
returned  to  the  cell.  He  came  and. 
kneeled  down  by  Josephs,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  him.  "  I  feared  it !  I 
feared  it !  "  said  he.  "  Why,  he  has 
been  dead  a  long  time.  Ah,  your 
reverence,  why  did  you  come  in  when 
I  told  you  not.  Poor  Josephs  is  no 
more,  sir." 

Mr.  Eden,  who  had  already  saluted 
Mr.  Hawes  with  grave  politeness, 
though  without  any  affectation  of 
good-will,  came  slowly  up,  and,  sink- 
ing his  voice  to  a  whisper  in  presence 
of  death,  said  in  pitiful  accents,  "  Poor 
child !  he  was  always  sickly.  Six 
weeks  ago  I  feared  we  should  lose 
him,  but  he  seemed  to  get  better." 
He  was  now  kneeling  beside  him. 
"  Was  he  long  ill,  sir  1  "  asked  he  of 
Hawes.  "  Probably  he  was,  for  he  is 
much  wasted.  I  can  feel  all  his 
bones."  Hardened  as  they  were, 
Hawes  and  Fry  looked  at  one  another 
in  some  confusion.  Presently  Mr. 
Eden  started  back.  "  Why,  what  is 
this  ?  he  is  wet.  He  is  wet  from  head 
to  foot.  What  is  the  cause  of  this  1 
Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Hawes  1  " 

Mr.  Hawes  did  not  answer,  but  Ev- 
ans did. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  the  bucket,  your 
reverence.  They  soused  him  in  the 
yard  late  last  night." 

"  Did  they  ?  "  said  Mr.  Eden,  look- 
ing the  men  full  in  the  face.  "  Then 
they  have  the  more  to  repent  of  this 
morning.  But  stay.  Why,  then  he 
was  not  under  the  doctor's  hands, 
Evans  ?  " 

"  La !  bless  you,  no.  He  was 
harder  worked  and  worse  fed  than 
any  man  in  the  jail." 

"At  work  last  night!  Then  at 
what  hour  did  he  die  \  He  is  stiff 
and  cold.  This  is  a  very  suddca 
death.  Did  any  one  see  this  hoy 
die?" 

The  men  gave  no  answer,  but  the 
last  words,  "  Did  any  one   see   tliis 


158 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD." 


boy  die  ?  "  seemed  to  give  Evans  a 
new  li;;ht. 

"  No  !  "  he  cried,  "  No  one  saw 
him  die.  Look  here,  sir.  See  what 
is  daii<:ling  from  the  window, — liis 
handkerchief. 

"  And  this  mark  round  his  throat, 
Evans.  He  has  destroyed  himself." 
And  Mr.  Eden  recoiled  from  the 
corpse. 

"  O,  you  may  forgive  him,  sir," 
said  Evans.  "  We  should  all  have 
done  the  same.  No  human  creature 
could  live  the  life  they  led  him.  Who 
could  live  upon  bread  and  water  antl 
punishment  ?  It  is  a  sorrowful  sight, 
but  it  is  a  happy  release  for  him.  Eh, 
])oor  lad,"  said  Evans,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  body  ;  "  I  liked  thee 
well,  but  I  am  glad  thou  art  gone. 
Thou  hast  escaped  away  from  worse 
trouhle." 

"  Come,  it  is  no  use  snivelling, 
Evans,"  put  in  Hawes.  "  I  am  as 
sorry  for  this  job  as  you  are.  But 
who  would  have  thought  he  was  so 
determined  1  He  gave  us  no  warn- 
ing." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that,  sir,"  cried 
Evans  to  Mr.  Eden.  "  He  gave 
them  plenty  of  warning.  I  heard 
him  with  my  own  ears  tell  you  you 
Avcre  killing  him  ;  not  a  day  for  the 
last  fortnight  he  did  not  tell  you  so, 
Mr.  Ilawes." 

*'  Well,  I  did  n't  believe  him,  you 
see." 

"  Yon  mean,  you  did  n't  care." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Evans  !  You 
are  disrespectful.  How  dare  you 
speak  to  me,  you  insolent  dog  ?  Hold 
your  tongue ! " 

"  No,  sir,  I  won't  hold  my  tongue 
over  this  dead  body." 

"  Be  silent,  Evans,"  said  Mr. 
Eden.  "  This  is  no  j)lace  for  dis- 
putes. Evans,  my  heart  is  broken. 
Wiiile  there  is  life  there  is  hope  ;  but 
here,  what  hope  is  there  ?  Many  in 
this  place  live  in  crime,  but  this  one 
has  (lied  in  crime  ;  he  of  wiioni  I  had 
such  >;ood  hopes  has  died  in  crime, — 
died  by  his  own  hand  ;  he  h:is  mur- 
dered   his   own    soul  ;    my   heart   is 


broken  !  —  my  heart  is  broken  !  " 
The  good  man's  anguish  was  ter- 
rible. 

Evans  consoled  him.  *'  Don't  go 
on  so,  sir !  pray  don't.  Josephs  is 
where  none  of  us  but  you  shall  ever 
get  to;  he  is  in  heaven  as  sure  as  we 
are  upon  earth.  He  was  the  best  lad 
in  the  place  ;  there  was  n't  a  drop  of 
gall  in  him  ;  who  ever  heard  a  bad 
word  from  him  1  and  he  did  not  kill 
himself  till  he  found  he  was  to  die 
whether  or  no  ;  so  then  he  shortened 
his  own  death-struggle,  and  he  was 
right," 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  dare  say  not,  sir  ;  but  those  two 
understand  me.  O,  it  is  no  use  to  look 
black  at  me  now,  Mr.  Hawes ;  I  shall 
speak  my  mind  though  my  head  was 
to  be  cut  off.  I  have  been  a  coward  ; 
I  thought  too  much  of. my  wife  and 
children  ;  but  I  am  a  man  now.  Eli  ! 
poor  lad,  thou  sha'  n't  be  maligned 
now  thou  art  dead,  as  well  as  tor- 
mented alive.  Sir,  he  that  lies 
here  so  pale  and  calm,  was  not  guilty 
of  self-destrucrion.  He  was  driven  to 
death  !  —  don't  speak  to  me,  sir,  but 
look  at  me.  and  hear  the  truth,  as  it 
will  come  out  the  day  all  of  us  in 
this  cell  are  damned,  except  you  — 
and  him  ! " 

The  man  fell  suddenly  on  his  knees, 
took  the  dead  boy's  hand  in  bis  left 
hand,  and  held  his  right  up,  and  in 
this  strange  attitude,  which  held  all 
his  hearers  breathless,  he  poured  out 
a  terrible  tale. 

His  boiling  heart,  and  the  touch  of 
him  whom  now  too  late  he  defended 
like  a  man,  gave  him  simple  but  real 
eloquence,  and  in  few  words,  that 
scalded  as  they  fell,  he  told  as  j)ower- 
f'u.Iy  as  I  have  feebly  by  what  road 
Josephs  had  been  goaded  to  death. 

He  brought  the  dark  tale  down  to 
where  he  left  the  sufferer  rolled  up  ip 
the  one  comfort  left  him  on  earth,  his 
bed;  and  then,  turning  suddenly,  and 
leaving  Josej)hs,  he  said  sternly  :  — 

"  And  now,  sir,  ask  the  governor 
where  is  the  bed  I  wrapped  the  wet 
boy  up  in,  for  it  is  n't  here," 


"IT   IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


159 


"  You  know  as  much  as  I  do !  "  was 
Ilawes's  sulky  reply. 

But  at  this  moment  Hodges  came 
into  the  cell  with  the  bed  in  question 
in  his  arms. 

"  There  is  his  bed,"  cried  he,  "  and 
what  is  the  use  of  it  now  1  If  you  had 
left  it  him  last  night  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  him  and  for  me  too  "  ;  and  he 
flung  the  bed  on  the  floor. 

"  Oh  !  it  was  you  took  it  from  him, 
was  it  ?  "  said  Evans. 

"  Well,  I  am  here  to  obey  orders, 
Jack  Evans  ;  do  you  do  nothing  but 
what  you  like  in  this  place  ?  " 

"  Let  there  be  no  disputing  in  pres- 
ence of  death  !  "     ' 

"  No,  sir." 

"  One  thing  only  is  worth  knowing 
or  thinking  of  now  ;  whether  there  is 
hope  for  this  our  brother  in  that  world 
to  which  he  has  passcd-all  unprepared. 
Hodges,  you  saw  him  last  alive  !  " 

Hodges  groaned.  "  I  saw  him  last 
at  night,  and  first  in  the  morning." 

"  I  entreat  you  to  remember  all  that 
passed  at  night  between  you  !  " 

"  Then  cover  up  his  face,  —  it  draws 
my  eyes  to  it." 

Mr.  Eden  covered  the  dead  face 
gently  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  Mr.  Hawes  met  me  in  the  corri- 
dor and  sent  me  to  take  away  his  bed. 
I  found  him  dozing,  and  I  took  —  I 
did  what  1  was  ordered." 

Mr.  Eden  sighed. 

"  Tell  me  what  he  said  and  did." 

"  Well,  sir !  when  I  showed  him  the 
order,  *  fourteen  days  without  bed  and 
gas,'  he  bursts  out  a  laughing  —  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  " 

"  And  says  he,  '  I  don't  say  for  gas, 
but  you  tell  Mr.  Hawes  I  sh'a'  n't  be 
without  bed  nothing  nigh  so  long  as 
that." 

Mr.  Eden  and  Evans  exchanged 
a  meaning  glance ;  so  did  Fry  and 
Hawes. 

"  Then  I  said,  '  No  !  I  sha'  n't  .tell 
^Ir.  Hawes  anything  to  make  him 
punish  you  any  more,  because  you 
are  punished  too  much  as  it  is,' 
says   I  —  " 

"  I  am  glad  you   said   that.     But 


tell  me  what  he  said.  Did  he  com- 
plain ?  did  he  use  angry  or  bitter 
words  ?  —  you  make  me  drag  it  out  of 
you." 

"  No  !  he  did  n't !  He  was  n't  one 
of  that  sort !  The  next  thing  was,  he 
asked  me  to  give  him  my  hand. 
Well,  I  was  surprised  like  at  his  ask- 
ing for  my  hand,  and  I  doing  him 
such  an  ill  turn.  So  then  he  said, 
'  Mr.  Hodges,'  says  he,  '  why  not '?  I 
never  took  away  your  bed  from  under 
you,  so  you  can  give  me  your  hand, 
if  I  can  give  you  mine.'  " 

"  O  what  a  beautiful  nature  !  Ah  ! 
these  are  golden  words.  I  hope  for 
tlie  credit  of  human  nature  you  gave 
him  your  hand  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  did,  sir.  I  had 
no  malice  ;  it  was  ignorance,  and  ow- 
ing to  being  so  used  to  obey  the  gov- 
ernor." 

Here  Mr.  Hawes,  who  had  remained 
quiet  all  this  time,  now  absorbed  in 
his  own  reflections,  now  listening  sul- 
lenly to  these  strange  scenes  in  which 
the  dead  boy  seemed  for  a  time  to 
have  eclipsed  his  importance,  burst 
angrily  in. 

"  I  have  listened  patiently  to  you, 
Mr.  Eden,  to  see  how  far  you  would 
go  ;  but  I  see,  if  I  wait  till  you  leave 
off  undermining  me  with  my  servants, 
I  may  wait  a  long  while." 

Mr.  Eden  turned  round  impa- 
tiently. 

"  You !  who  thinks  of  you,  or  such 
as  you,  in  pi-esence  of  such  a  question 
as  lies  here.  I  am  trying  to  learn  the 
fate  of  this  immortal  soul ;  and  I  did 
not  see  you,  or  think  of  you,  or  no- 
tice you  were  here." 

"  That  is  polite !  Well,  sir,  the 
governor  is  somebody  in  most  j  tils, 
but  it  seems  he  is  to  be  nobody  here 
so  long  as  you  are  in  it,  and  that 
won't  be  long.  Come,  Fry,  we  have 
other  duties  to  attend  to."  So  say- 
ing, he  and  his  lieutenant  went  out  of 
the  cell. 

Hodges  Avent  too,  but  not  with 
them. 

The  moment  they  were  gone, 
"  Well,  sir,"  burst  out  Evans,  "  don't 


160 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD.' 


yoii  see  that  the  real  mnHcror  is  not 
that  stnpiil  i<,ni()raiit  owl  1  lodges  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  Kvaiis  !  this  is  no  time 
or  phice  I'or  unkindly  thoup;hts  ;  thank 
Ili'aven  that  you  are  free  froni  their 
guilt,  and  leave  nie  alone  with  him." 

He  was  left  alone  with  the  dead. 

Evans  looked  through  the  peep- 
hole of  the  eell  an  hour  later.  He 
was  still  on  his  knees  fearing,  hoping, 
vowing,  and  above  all  praying,  be- 
side the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

Mr.  Eden  when  he  reappeared  in 
the  prison  was  sallow  and  his  limbs 
feeble,  but  his  fatal  disease  was  batfied, 
and  a  few  words  are  due  to  explain 
how  this  happened.  The  Malvern 
doctor  came  back  with  Susan  within 
twenty  hours  of  her  departure.  She 
ushered  him  into  Mr.  Eden's  room 
with  blushing  joy  and  pride. 

The  friends  shook  hands,  Mr.  Eden 
thanked  him  for  coming,  and  the  doe- 
tor  cut  him  short  by  demanding  an 
accurate  history  of  his  disorder,  and 
the  remedies  that  had  been  applied. 
Mr.  Eden  related  the  rise  and  i)ro- 
gress  of  his  complaint,  and  meantime 
the  doctor  solved  the  other  query  by 
smelling  a  battalion  of  emi)ty  phials. 

"  The  old  story,"  said  he,  with  a 
cheerful  grin.  "  You  were  weak,  — 
therefore  they  gave  you  things  to 
weaken  you.  You  could  not  put  so 
much  nourisliment  as  usual  into  your 
body,  —  therefore  they  have  been  tak- 
ing strength  out.  Lastly,  the  coats  of 
your  stoniiieh  were  irritated  by  your 
ilisor.ler,  —  so  ihey  have  raked  it  like 
blazes.  This  is  the  mill-round  of  the 
old  medicine  ;  from  irritation  to  in- 
flammation, from  inflammation  to 
mortification,  and  decease  of  the  pa- 
tient. N<nv,  instead  of  irritating  the 
irritated  spot,  suppose  we  try  a  little 
counter-irritation." 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

The  doctor  then  wetted  a  towel 
with  cold  water,  wrung  it  half  dry, 
and  applied  it  to  Mr.  Eden's  stomach. 


This  experiment  he  repeated  four 
times  with  a  fresh  towel  at  intervals  of 
twenty  minutes.  He  had  his  bed 
made  in  Mr.  Kden's  room. 

"  Tell  me  if  you  feel  feverish." 

Towards  morning  Mr.  Eden  tossed 
and  turned,  and  the  doctor  rising 
found  him  dry  and  hot  and  feveri-h. 
Then  lie  wetted  two  towels,  took  the 
sheets  off  his  own  bed,  and  placed 
one  wet  towel  on  a  blanket ;  then 
he  matle  his  patient  strip  naked,  and 
lie  down  on  this  towel,  wliieli  reached 
from  the  nape  of  his  neck  to  his 
loins. 

"  Ah  !  "  —  cried  Mr.  Eden  —  "  hor- 
rible !  " 

Then  he  put  the  other  towel  over 
him  in  front. 

"  Ugh  !  That  is  worse  ;  you  are  a 
bold  nu\n  with  your  remedies.  I 
shiver  to  the  hone." 

"  You  won't  shiver  long." 

He  laid  hold  of  one  etige  of  the 
blanket  and  pulled  it  over  him  with  a 
strong  quick  j)ull,  and  tucked  it  under 
him.  The  same  with  the  other  side  ; 
and  now  Mr.  Eden  was  in  a  blanket 
prison, — a  regular  strait-waistcoat, 
—  his  arms  pinned  to  his  sides.  Two 
more  blankets  were  placed  loosely 
over   him. 

"  Mighty  fine,  doctor ;  but  sup- 
pose a  fly  or  a  gnat  should  settle  on 
my  face  ?  " 

"  Call  me,  and  I  '11  take  him  off." 

In  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
Dr.  Gulson  came  to  his  bedsido 
again. 

"  How  are  you  now  ?  " 

"  In  Elysium." 

"Are  you  shivering?  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Are  you  hot  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  am  Ely- 
sian.  Please  retreat.  Let  no  nicrti 
mortals  approacii.  Come  not  near 
our  fairy  king,"  murmured  the  sick 
man.  "  I  am  Oberon,  slumbering  on 
tepid  roses' in  the  garden  whence  J 
take  my  name,"  purred  our  divine, 
mixinsr  a  creed  or  two. 

"  Well,  you  must  come  out  of  thia 
paradise  for  the  present." 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND." 


161 


"  You  would  n't  be  such  a  monster 
as  to  propose  it." 

S|iite  of  iiis  remonstrances  he  was 
unpacked,  rubbed  dry,  and  returned  to 
Ids  own  bed  where  he  slept  pLacidly 
till  nine  o'clock.  The  next  day  fresh 
ap])licaiions  of  wet  cloths  to  the 
stoniacli,  and  in  the  evening  one  of 
the  doctor's  myrmidons  arrived  from 
Malvern.  The  doctor  g'ave  him  full 
and  particnlar  instructions. 

'i'he  next  morning  Mr.  Eden  was 
packed  again.  He  delighted  in  the 
oj.cration,  but  remonstrated  against 
the  term. 

"  Packed  !  "  said  he  to  them  ;  "  is 
that  the  way  to  speak  of  a  paradisia- 
cal process  under  which  fever  and 
sorrow  fly,  and  calm  complacency 
steals  over  mind  and  body  1  " 

A  slight  diminution  of  all  the  un- 
favorable symptoms,  and  a  great  in- 
crease of  appetite,  relieved  the  doc- 
tor's anxiety  so  far  that  he  left  him 
under  White's  charge.  So  was  the 
myrmidon  called. 

"Do  not  alter  your  diet, — it  is 
simple  and  mucilaginous,  —  but  in- 
crease the  quantity  by  degrees." 

He  postponed  his  departure  till 
midnight. 

Up  to  the  present  time  he  had 
made  rather  light  of  the  case,  and  as 
for  danger  he  had  pooh-poolied  it 
with  good-humored  contempt.  Just 
before  he  went  he  said  :  — 

"  Well,  Frank,  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  now  that  I  am  very  glad  you 
sent  for  me,  and  I  '11  tell  you  why. 
Forty-eight  hours  more  of  irritating 
medicines,  and  no  human  skill  could 
have  saved  your  life." 

"  Ah !  my  dear  friend,  you  are 
my  irood  angp], — you  can  have  no 
conception     how    valuable    my    life 

"  0  yes,  I  can." 

"And  you  have  .saved  that  life. 
Yes !  I  am  weak  still,  but  I  feel  I 
shall  live.     You  have  cured  me." 

'•  In  popular  language  I  have ;  hn^, 
between  ourselves,  nobody  ever  cures 
anybody.  Nature  cures  all  that  are 
cured.  "  But  I  patted  Nature  on  the 


back  ;  the  others  hit  her  over  the  head 
with  bludgeons  and  brickbats." 

"  And  now  you  are  going.  I  must 
not  keep  you,  or  I  shall  compromise 
other  lives.  Well,  go  and  tultil  your 
mission.  But  first  think, —  is  there 
anything  I  can  do  in  part  return  for 
such  a  thing  as  this,  old  friend  1  " 

"  Only  one  that  I  can  think  of. 
Outlive  me,  old  friend." 

A  warm  and  tender  grasp  of  the 
hand  on  this,  and  the  Malvern  doctor 
jumped  into  a  fly,  and  the  railway- 
soon  whirled  him  into  Worcester- 
shire. 

His  myrmidon  remained  behind, 
and  carried  out  his  chief's  orders  with 
inflexible  severity,  unsoftcned  by 
blandishments,  unshaken  by  threats. 

In  concert  with  Susan  he  closed 
the  door  upon  all  harassing  commu- 
nications. 

One  day  Evans  came  to  tell  the  in- 
valid how  the  prisoners  were  mal- 
treated. Susan  received  him,  wormed 
from  him  his  errand,  and  told  him 
Mr.  Eden  was  too  ill  to  see  him, 
which  was  what  my  French  breth- 
ren call  une  sainte  mensonge,  —  I  a 
fib. 

A  slow  but  steady  cure  was  effect- 
ed by  these  means  :  applications  of 
water  in  various  ways  to  tiie  skin, 
simple  diet  and  quiet.  A  great  ajipe- 
tite  soon  came  ;  he  ate  tAvice  as  much 
as  he  had  before  the  new  treatment,  » 
and  would  have  eaten  twice  as  much  as 
he  did,  but  the  myrmidon  would  not  let 
him.  Whenever  he  was  feverish  the 
myrmidon  packed  him,  and  in  half  an 
hour  the  fever  was  gone.  His  cheeks 
began  to  fill,  his  eyes  to  clear  and 
brighten,  only  his  limbs  could  not  im- 
mediately recover  their  strength. 

As  he  recovered,  his  anxiety  to  be 
back  among  his  prisoners  increased 
daily,  but  neither  Susan  nor  the  myr- 
midon would  hear  of  it.  They  acted 
in  concert,  and  stuck  at  nothing  to 
cure  their  patient.  They  assured  him 
all  was  going  on  avcU  in  the  prison. 
They  meant  well  :  but,  for  all  that, 
every  lie,  great  or  small,  is  the  brink 
of    a  precipice  the   depth   of  which 


162 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


nothing  but  Omniscience  can  fath- 
om. 

He  believed  them,  yet  he  was  un- 
easy :  and  this  uneasiness  increased 
■with  his  returninj;  stren<rth.  At  last, 
one  morning'-  happening  to  awake 
earlier  than  usual,  he  stole  a  march 
on  his  nurses,  and  taking  his  stick 
walked  out  and  tottered  into  the  jail. 

He  found  Josephs  dead  under  the 
fangs  of  Hawes,  and  the  whole  prison 
groiuiing. 

Now  the  very  day  his  symptoms  be- 
came more  favorable,  it  so  happened 
that  he  had  received  a  few  lines  from 
the  Home  Othce,  that  had  perhaps 
aided  his  recovery  by  the  hopes  they 
inspired. 

"  The  matter  of  your  last  commu- 
nication is  forwarded  to  the  '  Inspec- 
tor of  Prisons.'  He  is  instructed  to  in- 
quire strictly  into  your  statements  and 
report  to  this  office." 

The  short  note  concluded  with  an 
intimation  that  the  tone  in  which 
Mr.  Eden  had  conveyed  his  remon- 
strances was  intemperate,  out  of 
place,  and  without  I'Uecedent. 

]Mr.  Eden  was  rejoiced. 

The  "  Inspector  of  Prisons  "  was  a 
salaried  officer  of  the  Crown,  enlight- 
ened by  a  large  comparison  of  many 
prisons,  and,  residing  at  a  distance, 
was  not  open  to  the  corrupting  influ- 
ences of  association  and  personal  sym- 
pathy with  the  governor,  as  were  the 
county  magistrates. 

Day  after  day  Mr.  Eden  rose  in 
ho]te  that  day  would  not  pass  without 
the  promised  visit  from  the  "  Inspec- 
tor of  Prisons."  Day  aficr  day  no 
inspector.  At  last  Mr.  Eden  wrote 
to  him  to  intiuire  when  he  was  com- 
ing. 

The  letter  travelled  about  after 
liim,  and  after  a  considerable  delay 
came  his  answer.  Ir  was  to  this  ef- 
fect, —  that  he  was  instructed  to  ex- 
amine into  charges  made  ai:ain<t  the 

governor  of  .Jail  ;    but  that  he 

had  no  instructions  to  make  an  ine<ru- 
lar  visit  for  that  purpo-^e.  His  pro- 
gress would  bring  him  ibis  year  to 

Jail  in  six  weeks'  time,  when  tic  >bould 


act  on  his  instructions,  but  these  did 
not  justify  him  in  varying  from  the 
routine  of  his  circuit. 

Six  weeks  is  not  lonjx  to  wait  for 
help  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death, 
thotight  the  eighty  -  pounders,  the 
clerks  who  execute  England. 

Three  days  of  this  six  weeks  had 
scarce  elapsed,  when  two  prisoners 
were  driven  a  step  each  further  than 
their  wretched  fellow-sufferers  who 
were  to  follow  them  in  a  week  or  two. 
Of  these,  otie,  "  a  mild,  quiet,  docile 
boy,"  was  driven  to  self-slaughter; 
and  anotlicr,  one  of  the  best-natured 
rogues  in  the  place,  was  driven  to 
manslaughter. 

This  latter  incident  Mr.  Eden  pre- 
vented. I  will  presently  relate  how  ; 
it  was  not  by  postponing  his  interfer- 
ence for  six  weeks. 

When  Mr.  Eden  rose  from  his 
knees  beside  the  slaughtered  boy,  he 
went  home  at  once,  and  wrote  to  the 
Home  Secretary.  On  the  envelope 
he  wrote  "  Private,"  and  inside  to 
this  effect :  — 

"  Two  months  ago  I  informed  you 
officially  that  prisoners  are  daily  as- 
saulted, starved,  and  maltreated  to 
the  danger  of  their  lives  by  the  gov- 
ernor    of  Jail.       I     demanded 

of  you  an  inquiry  on  the  spot.  In 
ri'ply  you  evailcd  my  demand,  and 
proposed  to  refer  me  to  the  visiting 
justices. 

"  In  answer  I  declined  these  men 
for  referees  on  two  grounds,  viz.  that 
I  had  lodjied  an  appeal  with  a  higher 
jurisdiction  than  theirs,  and  that  they 
were  confederates  of  the  criminal ; 
and  to  etiforce  the  latter  objection  I 
included  your  proposed  referees  in  my 
charges,  and  oiue  n)ore  demandcfl  of 
you  in  the  Queen's  name  an  examina- 
tion of  her  unworthy  servants  on  tlic 
instant  and  on  the  spot. 

"  On  this  occasion  I  warned  you  in 
these  words :  — 

"'Here  are  180  .«;ouls,  to  whose 
correction,  care,  and  protection  the 
state  is  pledged.  No  one  of  these 
lives  is  safe  a  single  day  ;  and  for 
every  head  that  falls  from  this  hour  I 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


163 


hold  you  responsible  to  God  and  the 
state.' 

"  Surely  these  were  no  hght  words, 
yet  they  fell  light  on  you. 

"  In  answer  you  promised  us  the 
'  Inspector  of  Prisons/  hut  you  gave 
him  no  instructions  to  come  to  us. 
You  fooled  away  time  when  time  was 
human  life.  Read  once  more  my 
words  of  warning,  and  then  read 
these  :  — 

"  This  morning  a  boy  of  fifteen  was 
done  to  death  by  Mr.  Hawes.  Of  his 
death  you  are  not  guiltless.  You 
were  implored  to  prevent  it,  you 
could  have  prevented  it,  and  you  did 
not  prevent  it.  The  victim  of  jail 
cruelty,  and  of  the  maladministration 
in  government  offices,  lies  dead  in  his 
cell. 

"  In  three  days  I  shall  commit  his 
body  to  the  dust;  but  his  memory 
never, — until  he  is  avenged,  and 
those  who  are  in  process  of  being 
murdered  like  him  receive  the  protec- 
tion of  the  state. 

"  If  in  tlie  three  days  between  this 
boy's  murdir  and  his  burial  your  di- 
rect representative  and  agent  does  not 
come  here  and  examine  this  jail  and 
sift  the  acts  of  those  who  govern  it, 
on  the  fourth  day  I  lay  the  whole  case 
before  her  Majesty  the  Queen  and  the 
British  nation,  by  publishing  it  in  all 
the  journnls.  Then  I  shall  tell  her 
Majesty  that,  having  thrice  appealed 
in  vain  to  her  representatives,  I  am 
driven  to  appeal  to  herself;  with  this 
I  shall  print  the  evidence  I  have  thrice 
offered  you  of  this  jailer's  felonies  and 
their  sanguinary  results.  That  Lady 
has  a  character  ;  one  of  its  strong,  un- 
mistakable features  is  a  real,  tender, 
active  humanity. 

"  I  rea  i  characters ;  it  is  a  part  of 
my  business;  and,  believe  me,  this 
Lady,  once  informed  of  the  crimes 
done  in  her  name,  will  repudiate  and 
ahhor  alike  her  hirelin;_r's  cruelty  and 
her  clerks'  and  secretaries'  indifference 
to  suffering  and  slaughter.  Nor  will 
the  public  hear  unmoved  the  awful 
tale.  Shame  will  be  showered  on  all 
connected  with  these  black  deeds,  even 


on  those  who  can  but  be  charged  with 
conniving  at  them. 

'*  To  be  exposed  to  national  horror 
on  the  same  column  with  the  greatest 
felon  in  England,  would  be  a  cruel 
position,  a  severe  punishment  for  a 
man  of  honor,  whose  only  fault  per- 
haps is,  that  he  has  mistaken  an  itcli 
for  eminence  for  a  capacity  for  busi- 
ness, and  so  serves  the  state  witliout 
comprehending  it.  But  what  else  can 
I  do  ?  I,  too,  serve  the  state,  and  I 
comprehend  what  I  owe  it,  and  the 
dignity  with  which  it  intrusts  me,  and 
the  deep  responsibility  it  lays  on  me. 
I  therefore  cannot  assent  to  future  fel- 
onies any  more  than  I  have  to  past  and 
present,  but  must  stop  them,  and  will 
stop  them  —  how  I  can. 

"  So,  sir,  I  offer  you  the  post  of 
honor,  or  a  place  of  shame.  Choose ! 
for  three  whole  days  you  have  the 
choice.  Choose  !  and  may  God  en- 
lighten you,  and  forgive  me  for  wait- 
ing these  three  days. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
"  &c.  &c.'' 

To  this  letter,  whose  tone  was  more 
eccentric,  more  flesh  and  blood,  and 
w^iTHOUT  PRECEDENT,  than  the  last, 
came  an  answer  in  a  different  hand 
from  the  others. 

" acknowledged  receipt  of  the 

chaplain's  letter. 

"  Since  a  human  life  has  succumbed 

under  the  discipline  of Jail,  an 

inquiry  follows  immediately  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  The  other  inducements 
you  have  held  out  are  comparatively 
weak,  and  something  more  than  super- 
fluous. How  far  they  are  in  good 
taste  will  be  left  to  your  own  cooler 
consideration.  A  person  connected 
with  the  Home  Department  will  visit 
your  jail  with  large  powers  soon  after 
you  receive  this. 

"  He  is  instructed  to  avail  himself 
of  your  zeal  and  knowledge. 

''Be  pleased  to  follow  this  course. 
Select  for  him  the  plainer  facts  of 
your  case.  If  on  the  face  of  the  busi- 
ness  he   sees   ground   for  deeper  in- 


164 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


qniry,  a  commission  will  sit  upon  the 
jail,  and  meanwhile  all  suspected 
otKcers  will  be  suspended.  You  will 
consider  yourself  still  in  direct  corre- 
spondence with  tliis  office,  hut  it  is  re- 
quested, on  account  of  the  mass  of 
matter  daily  submitted  to  us,  that 
your  communications  may  be  con- 
tined  to  facts,  and  those  stated  as  con- 
cisely as  possible." 

On  reading  this,  Mr.  Eden  col- 
ored with  shame  as  well  as  pleasure. 
"How  gentlemanlike  all  this  is!" 
thought  he.  "  How  calm  and  supe- 
rior to  me  who,  since  I  had  the  jaun- 
dice, am  always  lowering  my  office  by 
getting  into  a  heat !  And  I  to  threat- 
en this  noble,  digtiified  creature  with 
'  The  Times.'  I  am  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  myself.  Yet  what  could 
I  do  ?  I  had  tried  everything  short 
of  I)ullying,  and   failed.     But  I  now 

suspect never  saw  my  two  first 

letters.  Doubtless  the  rotten  system 
of  our  public  offices  is  more  to  blame 
than  this  noble  fellow." 

Thus  accusing  himself,  Mr.  Eden 
returned  with  somewhat  feeble  steps 
to  the  jail.  One  of  the  first  pris- 
oners he  visited  was  Thomas  Robin- 
son. He  found  that  prisoner  in  the 
attitude  of  which  he  thought  he  had 
cured  him,  coiled  up  like  a  snake, 
moody  and  wretched.  The  man 
turned  round  with  a  very  bad  expres- 
sion on  his  face,  wliicli  soon  gave  way 
to  a  look  of  joy.  Ho.  uttered  a  loud 
exclamation,  and,  springing  unguard- 
edly up,  drop))ed  a  brickbat  which 
rolled  towards  Mr.  Eden,  and  nearly 
hit  him.  Kobinson  looked  confused, 
and  his  eyes  rose  and  fell  from  Mr. 
Eden's  face  to  the  brickbat. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

"Not  so  well  as  before  you  fell  ill, 
sir.  It  has  been  hard  times  with  us, 
poor  fellows,  since  we  lust  you." 

"  I  fear  it  has." 

"  You  have  just  come  baek  in  time 
to  save  a  life  or  two.  There  is  a  boy 
called  Josephs.  I  hope  the  day  won't 
go  over  witliout  your  visiting  him, 
for  they  are  killing  him  by  inches." 


"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  heard  him  say  so." 

Mr.  p]den  groaned. 

"  You  look  pale,  my  poor  fellow." 

"  I    shall    be   better  now,"  replied 
the   thief,   looking   at   him   affection- 
ately. 
.""What  is  this?" 

"  This,  sir,  —  what,  sir  ?  " 

"  This  brick." 

"  Well  !  why,  —  it  is  a  brick,  sir." 

"  Where  did' you  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  found  it  in  the  yard." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  do  with 
it?" 

"  0,  I  was  n't  going  to  do  any  ill 
with  it." 

"  Then  why  that  guilty  look  when 
you  dropped  it  ?  Come  now,  I  am 
in  no  humor  to  be  hard  upon  you. 
Were  you  going  to  make  some  more 
cards  1" 

"Now,  sir,  didn't  I  promise  you  I 
never  would  do  that  again  ? "  and 
Kobinson  wore  an  aggrieved  look. 
"  Would  I  break  a  promise  I  made 
to  you  ? " 

"  What  was  it  for,  then  ?  " 

"  Am  I  bound  to  criminate  myself, 
your  reverence  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not  to  your  enemy ! 
but  to  your  friend,  and  to  him  who 
has  the  care  of  your  soul,  —  yes  !  " 

"  Let  me  ask  you  a  question   first, 
sir.     Which  is   worth  most,  one  life , 
or  twenty  ? " 

"  Twenty." 

"Then,  if  by  taking  one  life  you 
can  save  twenty,  it  is  a  good  action  to 
put  that  one  out  of  the  way  1  " 

"  That  does  not  follow." 

"  0,  does  n't  it  ?  I  thought  it  did. 
There  's  a  man  in  this  prison  that 
murders  men  wholesale.  I  thought 
if  I  could  any  way  put  it  out  of  his 
power  to  kill'any  more,  what  a  good 
action  it  would  be  ! 

"  A  good  action !  so  then  this 
brick  —  " 

"  Was  for  Hawes's  skull,  your  rev- 
erence." 

"  This,  then,  is  the  fruit  of  all  my 
teachint;.  You  will  break  my  heart 
amongst  you." 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


165 


"Don't  say  po,  sir!  pray  don't  say 
so  !  I  won't  touch  a  hair  of  his  head 
now  you  aro  ahvc;  but  I  tliouj^iit  you 
were  dead  or  dyini;-,  so  what  did  it 
matter  then  what  I  did  ?  Besides,  I 
was  driven  into  a  corner,  I  could  only 
kill  that  scoundrel  or  let  hiin  kill  me. 
But  you  are  alive,  and  you  will  find 
some  way  of  saving  my  life  as  well  as 
his," 

"  I  will  try.  But  first  abandon  all 
thoughts  of  lawless  revenge.  '  Ven- 
geance is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saiih  the 
Lord.'     Come,  promise  me." 

"  Now,  sir,  is  it  likely  I  would  of- 
fend 3'ou  for  the  pleasure  of  dirtying 
my  lingers  with  that  rascal's  blood  ? 
Don't  let  such  a  lump  of  dirt  as 
him  make  mischief  between  you  and 
me,  sir." 

"  I  understand  !  with  you  any  un- 
christian sentiment  is  easily  driven 
out  —  by  another.  Hatred  is  to  give 
way  to  contempt." 

"  No,  sir,  but  you  are  alive,  and  I 
don't  think  of  Hawes  now  one  way  or 
other  ;  with  such  scum  as  that,  out  of 
sight  is  out  of  mind.  When  did  you 
begin  to  get  better,  sir  1  and  are  you 
better"?  and  shall  I  see  your  blessed 
face  in  my  cell  every  day  as  I  used  1  " 
and  the  water  stood  in  the  thief's  eyes. 

Mr.  Eden  smiled  and  sighed. 
"  Your  mind  is  like  an  eel,  —  Heaven 
help  the  man  that  tries  to  get  hold  of 
it  to  do  it  any  lastinir  good.  You  and 
I  must  have  a  good  pray  together 
some  day." 

"  Ah  !  your  reverence,  that  would 
do  me  good  soul  and  body,"  said  Mr. 
Supple. 

*'  Let  me  now  feel  your  pulse  ;  it  is 
very  low.     What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Starvation,  overwork,  and  soli- 
tude ;  I  feel  myself  sinkinjr." 

"  If  1  could  amuse  your  mind." 

"  Even  you  could  hardly  do  that, 
sir." 


Hut 


I    have   brought   you    a 


quire  of  paper  and    one   of  Mr.  Gi 
lott's    swan-quill   pens    and    a  penny 
ink-bott!e." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  You  are  to  write  a  story." 


"  But  I  never  wrote  one  in  my 
life" 

"  Then  this  will  be  the  first  " 

'•  O,  I  Tl  try,  sir.  I  've  tried  a 
hundred  thiui^s  in  my  life,  and  they 
none  of  them  ])roved  so  liaid  as  they 
looked.     What  kind  of  story  1  " 

"  The  only  kind  of  story  that  is 
worth  a  button,  —  a  true  story,  —  the 
story  of  Thomas  Kobinson,  alias 
Scott,  alias  Lyon,  alias  etc." 

"  Then  you  sliouid  have  brought  a 
ream  instead  of  a  quire." 

"  No  !  I  want  to  read  it  when  it  is 
written.  Now  write  the  truth,  —  do 
not  dress  or  cook  your  facts  :  I  shall 
devour  them  raw  with  twice  the  rel- 
ish, and  they  will  do  you  ten  times 
the  good.  And  intersperse  no  hum- 
bug, no  sham  penitence.  When  your 
own  life  lies  thus  spread  out  before 
you  like  a  map,  you  will  find  you  re- 
gret many  things  you  have  done,  and 
view  othei's  with  calmer  and  wiser 
eyes  ;  for  self  review  is  a  healthy  pro- 
cess. Write  down  these  honest  re- 
flections, but  don't  overdo  it,  —  don't 
write  a  word  you  don't  feel.  It  will 
amuse  you  while  you  are  at  it." 

"  Tiiat  it  will." 

"  It  will  interest  me  more  than  the 
romance  of  a  carpet-writer  who  never 
saw  life,  and  it  may  do  good  to  other 
prisoners." 

"  I  want  to  begin." 

"  I  know  you  do,  creature  of  im- 
pulse !  Let  me  feel  your  pulse 
attain.    Ah  !  it  has  gained  about  ten." 

*'  Ten,  your  reverence?  Fifiy,  you 
mean.  It  is  you  for  putting  life  into 
a  poor  fellow  and  keeping  him  from 
despair.  It  is  not  the  first  time  you 
have  saved  me.  The  Devil  hates  you 
more  than  all  the  other  ])arsons,  ihv 
you  are  as  ingenious  in  good  as  he  is 
in  mischief." 

In  the  midst  of  this  original  eu- 
logy Mr.  Eden  left  the  cell  suddenly 
with  an  aching  heart,  for  the  man's 
words  remindeci  him  that  for  ail  ids 
skill  iind  ze  il  a  boy  of  fifteen  years 
lay  dead  of  despair  hard  by.  He 
went,  but  he  left  two  good  things  be- 
hind him,  —  occupation  and  hope. 


16G 


T   IS   IsEVEK   TOO   LATK   TO   MEXD. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

The  inexperienced  in  jails  woulfl 
take  tor  jiranted  that  the  deatli  of 
Jo.s>.phs  ji^ave  Mr.  llawcs's  system  a 
fatal  check.  No  such  thin^.  He  was 
sta<^^;^^ered.  So  was  Pharaoh  staj^- 
jrered  several  times,  yet  he  always 
recovered  himself  in  twenty-four 
liours.  llawes  did  not  take  so  lon<j 
as  that.  A  suicide  was  no  novehy 
under  his  system.  Six  hours  after 
he  found  his  victim  dead,  he  had  a 
man  and  a  boy  crucified  in  the  yard, 
swore  horribly  at  Fry,  wlio,  for  the 
fir?t  time  in  liis  life,  was  behind  time, 
and  tore  out  of  liis  hands  "  Uncle 
Tom,"  wiiiih  was  tlie  topic  that  had 
absorbed  Fry  and  made  him  two  min- 
utes behind  him  ;  went  home  and 
wrote  a  note  to  his  friend  Williams, 
informing  him  of  the  suicide  that  had 
taken  pUice,  and  reflecting  severely 
upon  Josephs  for  his  whole  conduct, 
with  which  this  last  offence  against 
discipline  was  in  strict  accordance. 
Then  he  had  his  grog,  and,  having 
notiiing  to  do,  he  thought  lie  would 
see  what  was  that  story  which  had 
prevailed  so  far  over  the  stern  reali- 
ties of  system  as  to  derange  tliat 
piece  of  clockwork  that  went  by  the 
name  of  Fry.  He  yawned  over  the 
first  paties,  hut,  as  the  master-hand 
iiru'olled  the  great  chromatic  theoiy, 
lie  became  al)Sorbed,  and  devoured 
this  <rreat  human  story  till  his  can- 
dles bnrnerl  down  in  tbeir  sockets  and 
sent  him  to  l)ed  lour  hours  later  than 
usual. 

The  next  morning  soon  after  chap- 
el a  gentleman's  servant  rode  up  to 
the  jail  and  delivered  a  letter  for  Mr. 
Hawes.  It  was  from  Justice  Wil- 
liams. That  worihy  expressed  in 
polysyllables  his  sorrow  at  the  death 
of  Josephs,  aftL  r  tliis  f  ishion  :  — 

"  A  circumstance  of  this  kind  is 
always  to  l)e  dcjdored,  since  it  gives 
occasion  to  tlie  enemies  of  the  system 
to  east  reflections,  which,  however 
unpiiilosophical  and  malignant,  pre- 
judice superficial  judgments  against 
our  salutary  discipline." 


He  then  went  on  to  say  that  the 
visiting  justices  would  be  at  the  jail 
the  next  day  at  one  o'clock  to  make 
their  usual  rej)ort,  in  which  Mr, 
Hawes  mi;^ht  be  sure  his  7A'al  and 
fidelity  woidd  not  pass  unnoticed.  He 
concluded  by  saying  that  Mr.  Hawes 
must  on  that  occasion  jjresent  his 
charges  against  the  chaplain  in  a  defi- 
nite form,  and  proceedings  would  be 
taken  on  the  spot. 

"  Aha  !  aha  !  So  I  shall  get  rid 
of  him.  Confound  him  !  he  makes 
me  harder  upon  the  beggars  than  I 
should  be.  Fry,  put  these  numbers 
on  the  cranks  and  bring  me  your  re- 
port after  dinner." 

With  these  words  ^Ir.  Hawes  van- 
ished, and,  to  the  infinite  surprise  of 
the  turnkeys,  was  not  seen  in  the  jail 
for  many  hours.  At  two  o'clock,  as 
he  was  still  not  in  the  prison,  Fry 
went  to  his  house.  He  found  Mr. 
Hawes  deep  in  a  l»ook, 

"  Brought  the  report,  sir." 

"  Give  it  to  me.  Humph  !  No.  40 
and  4.T  refractory  at  the  ciank.  No. 
65  caught  getting  up  to  his  window  ; 
says  he  wanted  to  i'eel   the  li^ht.     05 

—  that  is  one  of  the  boys,  is  n't  it  ]  " 

—  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  old  is  the  young  varmint  ?  " 

—  "  Ehven.  sir." 

"  No.  14  heard  to  speak  to  a  pris- 
oner that  was  leaving  the  jail,  his 
term  being  out.  What  did  he  say 
to  him  .'  "  —  "  Said  '  Good  by  !  God 
Itless  YOU  ! '  "  , 

"  I  Ml  shut  his  mouth.  Confound 
the  beggars !  how  fond  they  are  of 
talking.  1  think  they  would  raiher 
y;o  without  their  food  than  without 
their  jaw." 

"  No.  19  caught  writing  a  story. 
It  is  that  fellow  Robinson,  one  of  the 
parscm's  men.  I  '11  write  something 
on  his  skin.  How  did  he  get  the 
things  to  write  with  ?  "  —  "  Chaplain 
gave  them  him." 

"  Ah !  1  am  glad  of  that.  You 
brought  them  away  of  course  ?  "  — • 
"  Yes,  sir,  here  they  are.  He  made 
a  terrible  fuss  about  parting  wiil^ 
them." 


''IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEXD." 


1G7 


"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  —  "  He  said 
Heaven  was  to  judj^c  between  me  and 
him." 

"  Blaspheminc:  dog  ! him  !  I  '11 


break   him.     What  else  1 


Get 


out  of  my  sight,'  said  he,  '  for  fear 
I  do  you  a  mischief.'  So  then  down 
he  pops  on  his  knees  iu  a  corner  and 
turns  his  back  on  me,  like  an  igno- 
rant brute  that  he  is." 

"  Never  mind.  Fry,  I  '11  break 
him."  —  "I  suppose  we  shall  see  you 
in  the  prison  soon,  sha'  n't  we,  sir  ? 
The  place  looks  strange  to  me  with- 
out you." 

"  By  and  by,  by  and  by.  This 
confounded  book  sticks  to  me  like  a 
leech.  How  far  had  you  got  when 
you  lent  it  me  1  "  —  "  Got  just  to  the 
most  interesting  part,"  said  Fry, 
dolefully,  "  where  he  comes  under  a 
chap  called  Legree ;  and  then  you 
took  it  away." 

"Well,  you'll  have  it  again  as 
soon  as  I  have  done  with  it.  I  say, 
what  do  you  think  of  this  book  ? 
is  it  true,  do  you  think?" — "  0, 
it  is  true,  —  I  'd  take  my  oath  of 
that." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  ?  "  — 
"  Because  it  reads  like  true." 

"  That  is  no  rule,  ye  fool."  — 
"  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  think  1  " 

This  question  staggered  Hawes  for 
a  moment.  However,  he  assumed  an 
oracular  look,  and  replied,  "  I  think 
some  of  it  is  true  and  soine  is  n't." 

'■  Do  you  think  it  is  true  about 
their  knocking  down  blackee  in  one 
lot,  and  his  wife  in  another,  and  send- 
ing 'em  a  thousand  miles  apart  ?  "  — 
"  O,  that  is  true  enough  !  I  dare  say." 

"  And  running  them  down  with 
bloodhounds  ?  "  —  "  Why  not  ?  they 
look  upon  the  poor  devils  as  beasts. 
If  you.  tell  a  Yankee  a  nigger  is  a 
man,  he  thinks  you  are  poking  fun  at 
him." 

"  It  is  a  cursed  shame  !  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  but  I  '11  tell  you 
what  I  can't  swallow  in  this  book. 
Hem  !  did  you  ever  fall  in  with  any 
Yankees  1  "  —  "  One  or  two,  sir." 

"  Were    they    green    at  all  J"  — 


"  That   they   were  n't.       They   were 
rather  foxy  I  should  say." 

"  Rather  :  why,  one  of  them  would 
weaciier  upon  any  three  Englishmen 
that  ever  were  born.  Now  here  is  a 
book  that  as  good  as  tells  me  it  is  a 
Yankee  custom  to  disable  their  beasts 
of  burden.  Gammon  !  they  can't  af- 
ford to  do  it.  I  believe,"  continued 
this  candid  personage  (who  had  never 
been  in  any  of  the  States),  "  they  are 
the  cruellest  set  on  the  foce  of  the 
earth,  but  then  they  are  the  'cutest 
(that  is  their  own  word),  and  they 
are  a  precious  sight  too  'cute  to  dis- 
able the  beast  that  carries  the  grist  to 
the  mill."  —  "Doesn't  seem  likely, 
—  now  you  put  it  to  me." 

"  Have  a  glass  of  grog,  Fry."  — 
"  Thank  you,  .■-ir," 

"And  there  is  the  paper.  Run 
your  eye  over  it,  and  don't  speak  to 
me  for  ten  minutes,  for  I  must  see 
how  Tom  gets  on  under  this  bloody- 
minded  heathen." 

Fry  read  the  paper  ;  but,  although 
he  moistened  it  with  a  glass  of  grog, 
he  could  not  help  casting  envious 
glances  from  his  folio  at  Mr.  Hawes's 
duodecimo. 

Fibs  mixed  with  truth  charm  us 
more  than  truth  mixed  with  fibs. 

Presently  an  oath  escaped  from  Mr. 
H.iwes. 

"  Sir  !  "  —  "  Nothing,  it  is  only  this 
infernal  —  humph  !  " 

Presently  another  expletive  :  "  I  '11 
tell  you  vvhat  it  is.  Fry,  if  somebody 
doesn't  knock  this  thundering  Le- 
gree on  the  head,  I  '11  put  the  book 
on  the  fire." 

"  Well,  but,  if  it  is  n't  true,  sir  ?  "  — 
"But  it  is  true,  every  word  of  it, 
while  you  are  reading  it,  ye  fool. 
What  lieathens  there  are  in  the  world  ! 
First,  rhey  sell  a  child  out  of  his 
mother's  arms.  She  cuts  sooner  than 
be  parted.  They  hunt  her  and  come 
up  with  her ;  but  she  knows  what 
they  are,  and  trusts  her  life  and  tlie 
child  to  one  of  their  great  thundering 
frozen  rivers,  as  broad  as  the  British 
Channel,  sooner  than  fall  into  their 
hands.     That  is  like  a  woman,  Fry. 


168 


IT   IS  NEVEI?    TOO   LATE   TO   MEND/ 


A  fif?  for  me  beinj?  drowned,  if  the  kid 
is  drowned  wirli  me;  and  1  don't  even 
care  so  much  lor  ihe  kitl  hciii>4  drowned 
if  I  }iO  down  with  him,  —  and  ti)e 
cowardly  vciniin  dogs  and  men  stood 
barking  on  the  bank  and  durst  n't  fol- 
low a  woman  ;  but  your  cruel  ones 
arc  always  cowanls.  And  now  the 
rips  have  got  hold  (jf  this  Tom.  A 
chap  with  no  great  harm  in  him  that 
I  see,  except  that  he  is  a  —  sniveller 
and  psalm-singer,  and  makes  you  sick 
at  times,  but  he  isn't  lazy;  and  now 
they  are  mauling  him  because  he 
could  n't  do  the  work  of  two.  A  man 
can  but  do  his  best,  black  or  white, 
and  it  is  infernal  stupidity  as  well  as 
cruelty  to  torment  a  fellow  because 
he  can't  do  more  than  he  can  do.  And 
all  this  because  over  the  same  flesh 
and  blood  there  is  the  sixteenth  of  an 
inch  of  skin  a  different  color.  Won- 
der whether  a  white  bear  takes  a  black 
one  for  a  hog,  or  a  red  fox  takes  a 
blue  one  for  a  badger.  AVell,  Fry, 
thank  your  stars  that  you  were  born 
in  Britain.  There  are  no  slaves  here, 
and  no  buying  and  selling  of  human 
fli'sh  ;  and  one  law  for  high  and  low, 
rich  and  poor,  and  justice  for  the 
weak  as  well  as  the  strong." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Fry,  deferentially, 
"  Are  you  coming  into  the  jail,  sir  ?  " 
—  "  No,"  replied  Hawes,  sturdih',  "  I 
won't  move  till  I  see  what  becomes 
of  the  negro,  and  what  is  done  to  this 
eternal  riitfian." 

"  But  about  the  prisoners  in  my 
report,  sir,"  remonstrated  Fry. 

"  O,  you  can  see  to  that  without  my 
coming,"  rci)lied  llawes,  with  non- 
chalance. "  I'ut  40  and  45  in  the 
jacket  four  hours  a])iece.  Mind 
there  's  somebody  by  with  the  bucket 
against  they  sham."  —  "  Yes,  sir." 

*'  Put  the  boy  on  bread  and  water, 
and  to-morrow  I  'II  ask  the  justices  to 
let  m(!  flog  him.  No.  14  —  humph! 
stop  liis  supj)er — and  his  bed  —  and 
gas." 

"  And  IJohiu'^on  ?  "  — "  O,  give  hiin 
no  supper  at  ail  —  and  no  breakfist  — 
not  even  bread  and  water,  d'  \o.  hear  ? 
And  at  noon   1  '11  put  him  with  his 


empty  belly  in  the  black-hole,  —  that 
will  cow  him  down  to  the  ground, — 
there,  be  off!  " 

Ne.\t  morning  Mr.  Hawes  sat  down 
to  breakfast  in  high  spirits.  This 
very  day  he  was  sure  to  humiliate  his 
adversary,  most  likely  get  rid  of  him 
altogether. 

Mr.  Eden,  on  the  contrary,  wore  a 
sombre  air.  Hawes  noticed  it,  mis- 
took it,  and  pointed  it  out  to  Fry. 
"  He  is  down  upon  his  luck  :  he 
knows  he  is  coming  to  an  end." 

After  bieakfast  Mr.  Eden  went  into 
Robinson's  cell  :  he  found  him  hag- 
gard. "  O,  1  am  glad  you  are  come, 
sir;  they  are  starving  me!  No  sup- 
per last  night,  no  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing, and  all  for —  hum." 

"  For  what  ?  "  —  "  Well,  sir,  then, 

—  having  paper  in  my  cell,  and  for 
writing,  —  doing  what  you  bade  me, 

—  writing  my  life." 

Mr.  Eden  colored  and  winced. 
The  cruelty  and  the  personal  insult 
combined  almost  look  away  his 
breath  for  a  moment.  "  Heaven 
grant  me  patience  a  little  longer," 
said  he,  aloud.  Then  he  ran  out  of 
the  cell,  and  returned  in  less  than  a 
minute  with  a  great  hunch  of  bread 
and  a  slice  of  ham.  "  Yjixt  this," 
said  he,  all  fluitering  with  ])ity. 

The  famished  man  ate  like  a 
wolf ;  but  in  the  middle  he  did  stop 
to  say  :  — 

"Did  oiu?  man  ever  save  another 
so  often  as  you  have  me !  Now  my 
belly  is  full  I  shall  have  strength  to 
stand  the  jacket,  or  whatever  is  to 
come  next." 

"  But  you  are  not  to  be  tormented 
further  than  this,  1  hope  ?  "  —  "  Ah, 
sir!  "  rejdied  Kobinson,  "von  don't 
know  the  scoundrel  yet.  He  is  not 
starving  me  for  nothing.  This  is  to 
weaken  me  till  he  puts  the  weight  on 
that  is  to  cru*>h  me." 

"  I  hope  you  exaggerate  his  person- 
al dislike  to  you  and  your  own  im])or- 
t.tncc,  —  we  all  do  that."  —  "Well," 
sighed  liOl)inson,  "  I  hope  I  do.  Any 
way,  now  my  belly  is  full  1  have  got 
a  chance  with  him." 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


169 


The  visiting  justices  met  in  the  jail. 
Tlic  first  to  arrive  was  Mr.  Wood- 
cock. In  fact,  he  came  at  eleven 
o'clock,  an  hour  before  the  oihers. 
Had  ISIr.  Hawes  expected  him  so 
soon,  he  would  have  taken  Carter 
down,  who  was  the  pilloried  one  this 
morning ;  but  he  was  equal  to  the 
emergency.  He  met  Mr.  Woodcock 
with  a  depressed  manner,  as  of  a 
tender,  but  wise  father,  who,  in  pun- 
ishing his  offspring,  had  punished 
himself,  and  said  in  a  low,  regretful 
voice,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  been 
compelled  to  punish  a  prisoner  very 
severely." 

"  What  is  his  offence  V —  "  Being 
refractory  and  breaking  his  crank. 
Y^i  will  find  him  in  the  labor-yard. 
He  was  so  violent,  we  were  obliged 
to  put  him  in  tlie  jacket." 

"  I  shall  see  him.  The  labor-yard 
is  the  first  place  I  go  to." 

Mr.  Hawes  knew  that,  Mr.  Wood- 
cock. 

The  justice  found  Carter  in  that 
state  of  pitiable  torture,  the  sight  of 
which  made  Mr.  Eden  very  ill.  He 
went  up  to  him  and  said  :  "My  poor 
fellow,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you ;  but 
discipline  must  be  maintained,  and 
you  are  now  suffering  for  fighting 
against  it.  Make  your  submission  to 
the  goverimr,  and  then,  I  dare  say,  he 
will  shorten  your  punishment  as  far 
as  he  thinks  consistent  with  his  duty." 

Carter,  it  may  well  be  imagined, 
made  no  answer.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  the  worthy  magistrate  ex- 
pected or  required  one.  An  occasion 
for  misjudging  a  self-evident  case  of 
cruelty  had  arrived.  This  worthy 
seized  the  opportunity,  received  an 
ex  parte  statement  for  Gospel,  and 
misjudged,  spite  of  liis  senses. 

Item.  An  occasion  for  twaddling 
had  come,  and  this  good  soul  seized 
it  and  twaddled  into  a  man's  ear  who 
was  fainting  on  the  rack. 

At  this  moment  the  more  obser- 
vant Hawes  saw  the  signs  of  sham- 
ming coming  on.  So  he  said  hastily, 
"  O,  he  will  come  lo  soon,  and  then 
he  will  be  taken  down  "  ;  and  moved 
8 


away.  Mr.  Woodcock  followed  him 
without  one  grain  of  suspicion  or 
misgivins;. 

The  English  state  has  had  many 
opportunities  of  gauging  the  average 
intellects  of  its  unpaid  jurists.  By 
these  it  has  profited  so  well,  that  it  in- 
trusts blindly  to  this  gentleman  and 
his  brethren  the  following  commis- 
sion :  — 

They  are  to  come  into  a  place  of 
darktiess  and  mystery,  a  place  locked 
up  ;  a  place  which,  by  the  folly  of  the 
nation  and  the  shallow  egotists  who 
are  its  placemen  and  are  called  its 
statesmen,  is  not  subject  to  the  only 
safeguard  of  law  and  morals,  daily  in- 
spection by  the  great  unprejudiced 
public.  They  are  to  come  into  this 
the  one  pitch-dark  hole  that  is  now 
left  in  the  land.  They  are  to  come  here 
once  in  two  months,  and  at  this  visit 
to  see  all  that  has  been  done  there  in  the 
dark  since  their  last  visit.  Their  eagle 
eye  is  not  to  be  hoodwinked  by  appear- 
ances got  up  to  meet  their  visit. 
They  are  to  come  and  comprehend 
with  one  piercing  glance  the  past 
months  as  well  as  the  present  hour. 
Good.  Only  for  this  task  is  required, 
not  the  gullibility  that  characterizes 
the  many,  but  the  sagacity  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  few. 

Mr.  Woodcock  undertook  not  to  be 
deceived  as  to  what  had  been  done  in 
the  jail  while  he  was  forty  miles  dis- 
tant,—  and  Hawes  gulled  him  under 
his  own  eyes. 

What  different  men  there  are  in  the 
world,  and  how  differently  are  the 
same  things  seen  by  them !  The  first 
crucifixion  Eden  saw  he  .turned  as 
sick  as  a  dog,  —  the  first  crucifixion 
Woodcock  saw  he  twaddled  in  the 
crucified's  ear,  left  him  on  the  cross, 
and  went  on  his  way  well  pleased. 

Hawes,  finding  what  sort  of  man  he 
had  to  deal  with,  thought  within  him- 
self, "  Why  should  I  compromise  dis- 
cipline in  any  point?"  He  said  to 
Mr.  Woodcock,  "  There  is  another 
prisoner  whom  I  am  afraid  I  must 
give  an  hour  in  the  dark  cell." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  1"  — 


170 


IT  IS  ni:\'j:u  too  laii:  to 


:Ni). 


"  RtTibhlins:  a  lot  of  lies  upon  some 
piii)cr  lie  ^ot  from  ilic  c!ia|)lain."' 

Mr.  llaues's  brief  anil  unkind  dcH- 
iiition  of  autobio^iraphy  did  Ko'tin- 
son's  l)usinL'SS.  Air,  Woodcock  sim- 
ply observed  tluit  the  [jropobcd  I'unish- 
ment  was  by  no  means  a  severe  one 
for  the  oifcnce. 

They  visited  several  cells.  Wood- 
cock addressed  the  prisoners  in  certain 
words,  accompanied  with  certain  tones 
and  looks,  that  were  at  least  as  signif- 
icant as  his  words,  and  struck  the 
prisoners  as  more  sincere. 

The  words.  "  If  you  have  any- 
thing to  complain  of  here,  now  is  the 
time  to  say  so,  and  your  complaint 
shall  be  sified." 

The  tones  and  looks.  "  I  know 
you  are  better  olf  here  than  such  scum 
as  you  deserve,  but  you  have  a  right 
to  contradict  me  if  you  like ;  only 
mind,  if  you  don't  prove  it  to  my  satis- 
faction, who  am  not  the  man  to  be- 
lieve anything  you  say,  you  had  bet- 
ter have  lield  your  tongue." 

Meantime  Mr.  Ilawcs  said  nothing, 
but  fi.\ed  his  eye  on  the  rogue,  and 
that  eye  said,  "  One  word  of  discon- 
tent, and  the  moment  he  is  gone  I 
massacre  you."  Then  followed  in 
every  case  the  old  theatrical  business, 
according  to  each  rogue's  measure  of 
ability.  They  were  in  the  Klysian 
fields  ;  one  thing  alone  sad(icned 
them  ;  some  day  or  other  they  nmst 
return  to  the  world. 

Fathers,  sent  by  your  apprehensive 
wives  to  see  whether  Dicky  is  well 
used  at  that  school  or  not.  don't  draw 
Dicky  into  a  corner  of  the  ])lay-grouiul 
and  with  tender  kisses  and  promises 
of  inviolable  secrecy  coax  Itiiii  to  open 
liis  little  heart  to  you,  and  icil  you 
whetiier  he  is  really  hap|)y  :  leave  such 
folly  to  women,  —  it  is  a  weakness 
to  wriggle  into  the  truth  as  they  do. 

No  !  you  go  like  a  man  into  the 
parlor  with  the  schoolmaster,  —  I'len 
have  Dicky  in,  —  let  him  see  the  two 
authorities  together  on  good  terms,  — 
then  ask  him  whether  he  is  happy 
and  comfortable  and  well  used,  lie 
will  tell  you  he  is.     Go  home  rejoi- 


cing ;  but,  l)cforc  you  i;o  inro  t!ie  dri'v- 
ing  room,  do  pray  spend  twenty  min- 
utes by  tlie  kiuhen  Hie,  and  then  go 
up  stairs  to  the  boy's  mother,  —  and 
let  her  eat  you,  for  yon  beUjiig  t(;  the 
family  of  the  Woodcocks. 

"  We  are  passing  one  cell."  —  "  O, 
that  one  is  empty,"  replied  liawes. 

Not  quire  empty ;  there  was  a 
beech  cotfin  standing  in  that  cell,  and 
the  corpse  of  a  murdered  thief  lay 
waiting  for  it. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  justices  were 
all  assembled  in  their  room.  "  We 
will  send  you  a  message  in  half  an 
hour,  Mr.  Hawes." 

Mr.  Ilawes  bowed  and  retired,  and 
bade  Fry  to  take  Robinson  to  the  dark 
cell.  The  poor  fellow  knew  resbit- 
ance  was  useless.  He  came  out  at 
the  word  of  command,  despair  writ- 
ten on  his  face.  Of  all  the  horrors 
of  this  hell,  the  dark  cell  was  the  one 
he  most  dreaded.  He  looked  up  lo 
Hawes  to  see  if  anything  he  couM 
say  would  soften  him.  No !  tiiat 
hardened  face  showed  neither  ])itynor 
intelligence  ;  as  well  appeal  to  a  stone 
statue  of  a  nuile. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Eden  came 
into  the  jail.  Kobinson  met  him  on 
the  gionnd-flooi",  and  cried  out  to 
him  :  "  Sir,  they  are  sending  me  to 
the  black  hole  for  it.  I  am  a  doomed 
man  ;  tl:e  black-hole  for  si:^  iTOurs." 

"  No."  roared  liawes,  iVom  above, 
"for  twelve  hours;  the  odd  six  is 
for  speaking  in  prison."  Kobinson 
groaned. 

"  I  will  take  you  out  in  three," 
said  Mr,  Eden,  calmly.  Ilawcs 
heard,  and  laughed  aloud. 

"  Give  me  your  hand  on  that,  sir, 
for  )>ity's  sake,"  cried  Kobinson.  Mr. 
Eden  gave  him  his  hand  and  said, 
firmly  :  "  I  will  take  you  out  in  two 
hours,  ])lease  God." 

Hawes  chuckled:  "Parson  is  put- 
ting his  foot  in  it  more  and  more. 
The  justices  shall  know  this." 

This  momentary  contact  with  his 
good  an'jel  gave  Robinson  one  little 
ray  of  hope  for  a  companion  in  the 
cave  of  darkness,  madness,  and  death. 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


171 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  justices  went  through  their 
business  in  the  usual  routine.  They 
had  Mr.  Huwes's  book  up,  —  ex- 
amined the  entries,  —  received  tliem 
with  implicit  contidence,  —  looked  for 
no  other  source  of  information  to  com- 
pare them  with.  Examined  one  wit- 
ness and  did  not  cross-examine  him. 

This  done,  one  of  them  proposed 
to  concoct  their  report  at  once.  An- 
other suggested  that  the  materials 
were  not  complete,  —  that  there  was  a 
charge  against  the  chaplain.  This 
should  be  looked  into,  and,  sliould  it 
prove  grave,  embodied  in  their  re- 
port. 

Mr.  Williams  overruled  this.  "  We 
can  reprimand,  or,  if  need  be,  the 
bench  can  dismiss  a  chaplain,  without 
troubling  the  Secretaries  of  State. 
Let  us  make  our  report  and  then  look 
into  the  chaplain's  conduct,  who  is 
after  all  a  new-comer,  and  they  say 
a  little  cracked  ;  he  is  a  man  of  learn- 
ing." 

So  they  wrote  their  report,  and  in 
it  expressed  their  conviction  that  the 
system  on  the  whole  worked  admira- 
bly. They  noticed  the  incident  of 
Josephs's  suicide,  but  attached  no  sig- 
nificance and  little  importance  to  it. 
Out  of  a  hundred  and  eighty  prison- 
ers there  would  be  a  few  succumb  in 
one  way  or  another  under  the  system, 
but  on  the  whole  the  system  worked 
well. 

Jugger  system's  wheels  were  well 
greased,  and  so  long  as  they  were  well 
greased  it  did  not  matter  their  crush- 
ing one  or  two.  Besides,  the  crushed 
were  only  prisoners,  —  the  refuse  of 
society.  They  reported  the  governor, 
Mr.  Hawes,  as  a  painstaking,  active, 
zealous  officer ;  and  now  Mr.  Hawes 
was  called  in,  —  the  report  was  read 
to  liim,  —  and  he  bowed,  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  aorta,  nnd  presented  a  his- 
trionic picture  of  modest  merit  sur- 
prised by  unexpected  praise  from  a 
high  quarter. 

Next,  Mr.  Hawes  was  requested  to 
see  the  report  sent  off  to  the  post. 


"I  will,  gentlemen";  and  in  five 
minutes  he  was  at  the  post-office  in 
person,  and  his  praises  on  the  way 
to  his  Sovereign  or  her  representa- 
tive. 

"How  long  will  the  parson  take 
us  ?  "  —  "  Oh  !  not  ten  minutes." 

"I  hope  not,  for  I  want  to  look  at 
a  horse."  —  "  We  had  better  send  for 
him  at  once  then." 

The  bell  was  rung  and  the  chaplain 
sent  for.  The  chaplain  was  praying 
the  prayers  for  the  sick  by  the  side  of 
a  dying  prisoner.  He  sent  back  word 
how  he  was  employed,  and  that  he 
would  come  as  soon  as  he  had  done. 

This  message  was  not  well  re- 
ceived. Keep  a  living  justice  waiting 
for  a  dying  dog ! 

"  These  puppies  want  taking  down," 
said  Mr.  Woodcock.  —  "  O,  leave  him 
to  me,"  replied  Mr.  Williams. 

Soon  after  this  the  following  puppy 
came  into  the  room.  A  gentleman 
of  commanding  figure,  erect  but  easy, 
with  a  head  of  remarkable  symmetry 
and  an  eye  like  a  stag's.  He  entered 
the  room  quietly  but  rather  quickly, 
and  with  an  air  of  business  ;  bowed 
rapidly  to  the  three  gentlemen  in  turn, 
and  waited  in  silence  their  com- 
mands. 

Then  Mr.  Williams  drew  himself 
up  in  his  chair,  and  wore  the  solemn 
and  dignified  appearance  that  becomes 
a  judge  trying  a  prisoner,  with  this 
ditference,  tliat  his  manner  was  nod 
harsh  or  intentionally  oficn.sive,  but 
just  such  as  to  reveal  his  vast  superi- 
ority and  irresistible  vveight. 

In  a  solemn  tone  with  a  touch  of 
pity  he  began  thus  :  "  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  Mr.  Eden,  that  grave  ch;irges  are 
laid  against  you  in  the  prison." 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasine.'^s  on 
my  account,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Eden, 
politely,  "  they  are  perhaps  false." 

"  Yet  they  come  from  one  wiio  has 
means  of  knowing,  —  from  the  gover- 
nor, Mr.  Plawes."  —  "Ah!  tlieu  tliey 
are  sure  to  be  false.'* 

"  We  shall  see.  Four  Sundays  ago 
you  preached  a  sermon."  —  "  Two." 

"  Ay !  but  one  was  against  cruel- 


172 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


ty."  —  "  It  was  ;  the  other  handled 
theft." 

"  Mr.  Ilavves  conceives  himself  to 
have  been  singled  out  and  exposed  by 
tliat  sonnon." — "  Why  so?  there  are 
more  than  thirty  cruel  men  in  this  jail 
besides  him." 

"  Then  this  sermon  was  not  aimed 
at  him  ?  "  put  Mr.  Williams,  with  a 
pinniti<;  air.  —  "  It  was  and  it  was  not. 
It  was  aimed  at  that  class  of  my  par- 
ishioners to  which  he  belongs  ;  a  large 
class,  including  all  the  turnkeys  but 
one,  l)etween  twenty  and  thirty  of  tlie 
greater  criminals  among  the  prisoners, 
—  and  Mr.  Hawes." 

Mr.  Williams  bit  his  lip.  "  Gen- 
tlemen, this  classification  shows  the 
animus  "  ;  then  turning  to  Mr.  Eden, 
he  said,  with  a  half-incredulous  sneer, 
"  How  comes  it  that  Mr.  Hawes  took 
this  sermon  all  to  himself?  " 

Mr.  Eden  smiled.  "  How  does  it 
hajipen  that  two  prisoners,  82  and  87, 
took  it  all  to  themselves  ?  These  two 
men  sent  for  me  after  the  sermon  ; 
they  were  wife-beaters.  I  found  them 
both  in  great  agitation.  One  terrified, 
the  other  softened  to  tears  of  peni- 
tence. These  did  not  apply  my  words 
to  Mr.  Hawes.  The  truth  is,  when  a 
searching  sermon  is  preached,  each 
sinner  takes  it  to  himself.  I  am  glad 
Mr.  Hawes  fitted  the  cap  on.  I  am 
glad  the  pri.soners  fitted  the  cap  on. 
1  an)  sorry  Mr.  Hawes  was  irritated 
instead  of  reformed.  I  am  glad  those 
two  liss  hardened  sinners  were  re- 
formed instead  of  irritated." 

"  And  I  must  tell  you,  sir,  that  we 
disap])rove  of  your  style  of  preaching 
altoi;ether,  and  we  shall  do  more,  we 
shall  make  a  change  in  this  respect 
the  condition  of  your  remaining  in 
ofiice." 

"■  And  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Eden.  —  "  What  about 
him  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  allow  you, 
an  iirnorimt,  inexperienced  layman,  to 
usurp  the  episcopal  function  in  his 
diocese?"  —  "The  episcopal  func- 
tion, Mr,  Eden  ?  " 

Mr.  Eden  smiled.     "He  docs  not 


even  see  that  he  has  been  trying  to 
usurp  sacred  functions,  and  of  the 
highest  order.  But  it  is  all  of  a  piece, 
—  a  profound  ignorance  of  all  law, 
civil  or  ecclesiastical,  characterizes 
all  your  acts  in  this  jail.  My  good 
soul,  just  ask  yourself  for  what  pur- 
pose does  a  bishop  exist  ?  Why  is 
one  priest  raised  above  other  priests, 
and  consecrated  bishop,  but  to  enable 
the  Church  to  govern  its  servants  ?  I 
laugh,  but  I  ought  rather  to  reluike 
you.  What  you  have  attemptetl  is 
something  more  than  childish  arro- 
gance. Be  warned  !  and  touch  not 
the  sacred  vessels  so  rashly,  —  it  is 
profanation." 

The  flashing  eye  and  the  deepening 
voice,  and  the  old  awtul  ecclesiastical 
superiority  suddenly  thundering  upon 
them,  quite  cowed  the  two  smaller 
magistrates.  Williams,  wJiose  pom- 
posity the  i)riest  had  so  rudely  shaken, 
gasped  for  breath  with  rage.  Magis- 
terial arrogance  was  not  prepare<l  for 
ecclesiastical  arrogance,  and  the  bloMT 
was  stunning. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  wish  to  consult  you. 
Be  pleased  to  retire  for  a  minute,  sir." 

A  discussion  took  place  in  the 
chaplain's  absence.  Williams  was  for 
dismissing  him  on  the  spot,  but  the 
others,  who  were  cooler,  would  not 
hear  of  it.  "  We  have  made  a  ialse 
move,"  said  they,  "  and  he  saw  our 
mistake  and  made  the  mo-^t  of  it. 
Never  mind  !  we  shall  catch  him  on 
other  ground." 

During  this  discussion,  Mr.  Eden 
had  not  been  idle ;  he  went  into  liob- 
inson's  empty  cell,  and  coolly  placed 
there  another  inkstand,  pen,  and  quire 
in  the  place  of  tho>e  Hawes  had  re- 
moved. Then,  glancing  at  his  watch, 
he  ran  hastily  out  of  the  jail.  Op- 
posite the  gate,  he  found  four  men 
waiting ;  they  were  there  by  appoint- 
ment. 

*'  Giles,"  said  he  to  one,  "  I  think 
a  gentleman  will  come  down  by  the 
next  train.  Go  to  the  station  and 
hire  Jenkyns's  fiy  with  the  gray  horse. 
Let  no  one  have  it  who  is  not  coming 
on  to  the  jail.     You  two  stay  by  the 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


173 


printing-press  and  loom  till  further 
orders.  Jackson,  you  keep  in  the  way 
too.  My  servant  will  bring  you  your 
dinner  at  two  o'clock."  He  then  ran 
back  to  the  justices.  They  were  wait- 
ing for  liini. 

Mr.  Williams  began  with  a  cutting 
coldness.  "  We  did  not  wish  to  go 
to  the  length  of  laying  a  complaint 
against  you  before  the  bishop,  but  if 
you  really  prefer  this  to  a  friendly  re- 
monstrance —  "  —  "I  prefer  the  right 
thing  to  the  Avrong  thing,"  was  the 
prompt  and  calm  rejoinder. 

"  The  complaint  shall  be  made." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled.  He  pictured  to  himself  this 
pompous  personage  writing  to  the 
Bishop  of  *  *  *,  to  tell  him  that  he 
objected  to  Mr.  Eden's  preaching ; 
not  that  he  had  ever  heard  it,  but 
that  in  attacking  a  great  human  vice 
it  had  hit  a  jailer. 

"  The  next  I  think  we  can  deal  with. 
Mr.  Hawes  complains  that  you  con- 
stantly interfere  between  him  and  the 
prisoners,  and  undermine  his  authori- 
ty."—  "  I  support  him  in  all  his  legal 
acts,  but  I  do  oppose  his  illegal  ones." 

"  Your  whole  aim  is  to  subvert  the 
discipline  of  the  jail." — "On  the 
contrary,  I  assure  you  I  am  the  only 
officer  of  the  jail  who  maintains  the 
discipline  as  by  law  established." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  vou  give 
Mr.  Hawes  the  lie?"  —  "  You  shall 
phrase  my  contradiction  according  to 
your  own  taste,  sir." 

"  And  which  do  you  think  is  likeli- 
est to  be  believed  V  —  "  Mr.  Hawes 
by  you,  gentlemen  ;  Mr.  Eden  by  the 
rest  of  the  nation." 

Here  Mr.  Palmer  put  in  his  word. 
"  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  pay  less 
respect  to  one  man's  bare  asserticm 
than  to  another's.  It  is  a  case  for 
proof." 

"  Well, but, Palmer," replied  AVood- 
cock,  "  liow  can  the  jail  go  on  with 
these  two  at  daggers  drawn?  "  —  "  It 
cannot,"  said  Mr.  Eden. 

"Ah,  you  can  see  that."  —  "A 
house  divided  against  itself!"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Eden. 


"  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Woodcock, 
"  let  us  try  and  give  a  more  friendly 
tone  to  this  discuss.ioti."  —  "  Why  not  ? 
—  our  weapons  would  bear  polishing." 

"  Yes ;  you  have  a  high  reputa- 
tion, Mr.  Eden,  both  for  learning  and 
Christian  feeling ;  in  fact  the  general 
consideration  in  which  you  are  held 
has  made  us  more  lenient  in  this  case 
than  we  should  have  been  with  another 
man  in  your  office."  —  "There  yoti 
are  all  wrong." 

"You  can't  mean  that;    make  us. 
some   return   for  this   feeling.     You 
know  and  feel  the  value  of  peace  and 
unity?"  — "I  do." 

"  Then  be  the  man  to  restore  them 
to  this  place."  —  "  I  will  try." 

"  The  governor  and  you  cannot  pull 
together,  —  one  must  go."  —  "  Clear- 

"  Well,  then,  no  stigma  shall  rest  on 
3'ou,  —  you  will  be  allowed  to  offer  us 
your  voluntary  resignation."  —  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  I  propose  to  arrive  at  peace 
and  unity  by  another  route." 

"  But  I  see  no  other."  —  "  If  I  turn 
Mr.  Hawes  out,  it  will  come  to  the 
same  thing,  will  it  not  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Hawes  ? "  —  "  Mr.  Hawes." 

"  But  you  can't  turn  him  out,  sir," 
sneered  Williams.  —  "I  think  I  can." 

"  He  has  our  confidence  and  our  re- 
spect, and  shall  have  our  protection." 
— "  Still  I  will  turn  him  out,  with 
God's  help." 

"  This  is  a  defiance,  Mr.  Eden."  — 
"  You  cannot  really  think  me  capable 
of  defying  three  justices  of  the  peace  !  " 
said  Mr.  Eden,  in  a  solemn  tone,  his 
eyes  twinkling. 

'  "  Pefiance  !    no,"  said  Mr.  Palmer, 
innocently. 

"  Well,  but,  Palmer,  his  opposition 
to  Mr.  Hawes  is  opposition  to  us,  and 
is  so  bitter  that  it  leaves  us  no  alter- 
native :  we  must  propose  to  the  bench 
to  remove  you  from  your  office." 
Mr.  Eden  bowed. 

"  And  meantime,"  put  in  Mr. 
Williams,  "  we  shall  probably  suspend 
you  this  very  day  by  our  authority." 
Mr.  Eden  bowed. 

"  We  will  not  detain  you  any  longer. 


174 


"IT   IS   NKVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


sir,"  said  Williams,  rather  insolent- 
ly. —  "I  will  hut  stay  to  say  one 
word  to  this  pentlcman,  who  has  con- 
ducted himself  with  courtesy  towards 
me.  Sir,  for  your  own  sake,  do  not 
enter  on  this  contest  with  me  :  it  is 
an  une({u:il  one.  A  boy  has  just 
been  murdered  in  this  prison.  I  am 
about  to  drag  his  murderer  into  the 
light ;  why  hang  ujjon  his  skirts,  and 
compel  me  to  expose  you  to  public 
horror  as  his  abettor  ?  There  is  yet 
time  to  disown  the  fell  practices  of 
—  hell !  "  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  There  is  half  an  hour.  Do  not 
waste  it  in  acts  which  our  superiors 
will  undo.  See,  here  are  the  prison 
rules  ;  a  child  could  nnderstand  thiin. 
A  child  could  see  that  wh;it  you  call 
'  the  discipline'  is  a  pure  invention  of 
the  present  jailer,  and  contradicts  the 
discipline  as  by  law  established,  and 
consequently  that  Josephs  and  others 
liave  been  murdered  by  this  lawless 
man.  These  are  the  prison  rules,  are 
they  not?  and  here  are  the  jailer's 
proceedings  in  the  month  of  Jan- 
uary.—  compare  the  two,  and  separate 
your  honorable  name  from  the  contact 
of  this  caitiff,  whose  crimes  will  gib- 
bet him  in  the  nation's  eyes,  and  you 
■with  him,  unless  you  seize  this  chance 
and  withdraw  your  countenance  from 
him." 

The  three  injustices  rose  by  one 
impulse. 

"  Make  your  preparations  to  ?eAve 
the  jail,"  said  Mr.  Woodcock. 

"  Half  an  hour  is  quite  enough 
under  the  circumstances,"  said  Wil- 
liams. 

Palmer  stood  aghast, — his  mind 
was  not  fast  enough  to  keep  up.* 

V,r.  Eden  bowed  and  retired.  He 
was  scarcely  out  of  the  room  when 
the  justices  drew  up  an  order  for  his 
uspcnsion  from  his  oiKce. 

Mr.  Hawcs  was  sent  for. 

"  We  have  found  the  chaplain  all 
you  described  him.  Discipline  is  im- 
possible with  such  a  man  ;  here  is  an 
order  for  his  suspension."  Hawes's 
eyes  sparkled.  "  We  will  enter  it  in- 
to the  book,  meantime  you  are  to  see 


it  executed."  Hawes  went  out,  but 
presently  returned.  "  He  won't  go, 
gentlemen." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  he  won't 
go?  "said  Williams.—"!  told  liim 
your  orders  ;  and  he  said,  '  Tell  their 
worships  they  are  exceeding  their 
authority,  and  I  won't  go.'  Then  I 
said,  '  They  give  you  half  an  hour  to 
pack  up,  and  then  you  must  pack 
off.'  " 

"  He !  he !  he  !  and  what  did  he 
say  ?  "  —  "  '  O,  they  give  me  half  an 
hour,  do  they  ?  '  says  he,  *  you  take 
them  this  ' ;  and  he  wrote  this  on  a 
slip  of  paper,  —  here  it  is." 

The    slip    contained   these  words, 

TToAAa     ixera^v     TreAet     kuAikos    *cai    ;^eiAe09 

aKpov. 

While  the  justices  were  puzzling 
over  this,  Hawes  added,  "  Gentlemen, 
he  said  in  his  polite  way,  '  If  it  is 
like  the  prison  rules  and  beats  their 
comprehension,  you  may  tell  them  it 
means,  — 

There  is  many  a  slip 

'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip.'  "     ' 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hawes,  what  next  ?  " 
—  "  '  I  am  victualled  for  a  siege,'  says 
he,  and  he  goes  into  his  own  I'oom 
and  I  heard  him  shoot  the  bolt." 


What  does  that 


inqui 


red 


Mr.  Palmer.  —  "  It  means,  sir,  that 
you  won't  get  him  out,  except  by 
kicking  him  out."  Hawes  had  been 
irritating  their  wounded  vanity  in  or- 
der to  get  them  up  to  this  mark. 

"  Then  turn  him  out  by  force,"  said 
Williams;  but  the  other  two  were 
wiser.  "  No,  we  must  not  do  that, — 
we  can  keep  him  out  if  once  he  crosses 
the  door." 

"  1  will  manage  it  for  you,  gentle- 
men," said  Mr.  Hawes.  —  "  Do." 

Mr.  'Hawes  went  out  and  primed 
Fry  with  a  message  to  Mr.  Eden,  that 
a  gentleman  had  ridden  over  from 
Oxford  to  see  him,  and  was  at  his 
house. 

Mr.  Eden  was  in  his  room,  busy  col- 
lecting and  arranging  several  papers  : 
he  had  just  tied  them  up  in  a  little 
portfolio,  when  he  heard  Fry's  voice 
at    the    door.      When    that  worthy 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


175 


delivered  his  messaii^e,  his  lip  curled 
with  scorn.  But  he  said,  *'  Very  well." 
1  will  disapjxjint  the  sly  boobies, 
thouiiht  he.  But  the  next  moment, 
lookinir  out  of  his  window,  he  saw  a 
fly  with  a  crray  horse  cominj;  alonjic 
the  road.  "  At  last,"  —  he  cried,  and 
instantly  unbolted  his  door,  and  is- 
sued forth  with  his  little  portfolio  un- 
der his  arm.  He  had  scarce  taken  ten 
steps  when  a  turnkey  popped  out  from 
a  corner,  and  stood  sentinel  over  his 
room  door,  barring  all  return. 

Mr.  Eden  smiled  and  passed  on 
along  the  corridor.  He  descended 
from  the  first  floor  to  the  basement. 
Here  he  found  Hawes  affecting  busi- 
ness, but  not  skilfully  enough  to  hide 
that  he  was  watching  Mr.  Eilen  out. 

la  the  yard  leading  to  the  great 
door  he  found  the  injustices.  Aha  ! 
thought  he,  —  waiting  to  see  me  out. 
He  raised  his  hat  politely.  Williams 
took  no  notice.     The  others  slight. 

"  There  is  many  a  slip 
'Twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip," 

said  he  to  them,  looking  them  calmly 
over,  then  sauntered  towards  the  gate. 

Mr.  Hawes  came  creeping  after  and 
joined  the  injustices;  every  eye  fur- 
tively watched  the  parson  whom  they 
had  outwitted.  Fry  himself  had  gone 
to  the  lodge  to  let  him  out  and  kerp 
him  out.  He  was  but  a  few  steps 
from  the  door.  Hawes  chuckled  ;  his 
heart  beat  with  exultation.  Another 
moment  and  that  huge  barrier  would 
be  interposed  forever  between  him  and 
his  enemy,  the  prisoners'  friend. 

"  Open  the  door,  Mr.  Fry,"  said 
the  chaplain.  F'ry  pulled  it  quickly 
open.     "  And  let  that  gentleman  in  !  " 

A  middle-aged  gentleman  was  pay- 
ing off  his  fly.  The  door  being  thus 
thrown  open,  he  walked  quickly  into 
the  jail  as  if  it  belonged  to  him. 

"Who  is  this?"  inquired  Mr. 
"Williams,  sharply.  The  new-comer 
inquired  as  sharply,  "  The  governor 
of  this  jail  ?  " 

Mr.  Hawes  stepped  forward.  "  I 
am  the  governor."  The  new-comer 
handed  him  his  card  and  a  note. 


"  INIr  Lacy,  from  the  Home  Office," 
said  Mr.  Hawes  to  the  injustices. 
"  These,  sir,  are  the  visiting  justices." 

Mr.  Lacy  bowed,  but  addressed 
himself  to  Mr,  Hawes  only.  "  Grave 
charges  have  been  mafle  against  vou, 
sir.  I  am  here  to  see  whetlier  matters 
are  such  as  to  call  for  a  closer  inves- 
tigation." 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  who  makes  the 
charges  against  me  ?  " —  "  The  chap- 
lain of  your  own  jail." 

"  But  he  is  my  enemy,  sir,  my  per- 
sonal enemy."  —  "Don't  distress  your- 
self. No  public  man  is  safe  from  de- 
traction. We  hear  an  excellent  ac- 
count of  you  from  every  quarter  but 
this  one.  My  visit  will  probably  turn 
to  your  advantage." 

Hawes  brightened. 

"  Is  there  any  room  in  which  I 
could  conduct  this  inquiry  ?  "  — 
"  Will  you  be  pleased  to  come  to  the 
justices'  room  1  " 

"  Yes.  Let  us  go  there  at  once. 
Gentlemen,  you  shall  be  present  if 
you  choose." 

"  It  is  right  you  should  know  the 
chaplain  is  cracked,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. 

"  I  should  not  wonder.  Pray,"  in- 
quired Mr.  Lacy,  "  who  was  that  bil- 
ious-looking character  near  the  gate 
when  I  came  in?"  —  "Why,  that 
was  the  chaplain." 

"  I  thought  so !  I  dare  say  we  shall 
find  he  has  taken  a  jaundiced  view  of 
things.  Send  for  him,  if  you  please, 
and  let  us  get  through  the  business  as 
quickly  as  we  can." 

AVhen  Mr.  Eden  came,  he  found 
Mr.  Lacy  chatting  pleasantly  with  his 
four  adversaries.  On  his  entrance 
the  gentleman's  countenance  fell  a 
little,  and  Mr.  F^den  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  that  this  man  too  was  pre- 
judiced against  him. 

"  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  1"  —  "  Eden." 

"  Mr.  Eden,  be  seated,  if  you  please. 
You  appear  to  be  ill,  sir?"  —  "I 
am  recovering  from  a  mortal  sick- 
ness." 

"  The  jaundice,  eh  ?  "  —  "  Some- 
thing  of  that  nature." 


176 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"A  horrible  complaint,"  —  Mr. 
Eden  howfd. 

"  I  have  had  some  experience  of  it. 
Are  y<>'»  awnn;  of  its  ctfcct  on  the 
mind^  "  —  "1  feel  its  ettect  on  the 
temper  and  the  nerves." 

"  DofpiT  than  tliat,  sir,  —  it  colors 
the  judj^nu-nt.  Makes  us  look  at  ev- 
crythinjr  on  the  dark  side."  —  Mr. 
Eden  sighed  :  "  I  see  what  you  arc 
drivint;  at :  but  you  confound  effect 
with  cause." 

i^lr.  Lacy  shrufrfjed  his  shoulders, 
ojjened  his  portfolio,  and  examined  a 
paper  or  two.  "  Mr.  Ilawcs,  you 
served  her  Majesty  in  another  way 
before  you  came  here  1  "  —  "  Five-and- 
twenty  years,  sir,  man  and  boy." 

"  And  I  think  with  credit  ?  "  — 
"  My  will  has  been  j^ood  t«  do  my 
duty,  whatever  my  al)ilities  may  be." 

"  I  believe  you  distinguished'  your- 
self at  sea  in  a  storm  iu  the  West 
Indies^" 

Mr.  Williams  put  in  warmly  :  "  He 
went  out  to  a  vessel  in  distress  in  a 
hurricane  at  Jamaica." 

"  It  was  off  the  Mauritius,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Eden,  with  a  gleam  of  sat- 
isfaction. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lacy  "he  saved 
other  lives  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  no 
matter  where.  Pray,  Mr.  Eden,  does 
your  reading  and  experience  lead  you 
to  believe  that  a  brave  man  is  ever  a 
cruel  one  ?  "  —  "  Yes  " 

"  There  is  a  proverb  that  the  cruel 
are  always  cowards."  —  "  Cant !  seven 
out  of  twelve  are  cowards  and  five 
brave." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you.  The 
presumption  is  all  on  Mr.  Hawes's 
side."  —  "And  only  the  facts  on 
mine." 

Mr.  Lacy  smiled  superciliously. 
"To  the  lacts  let  us  go  then.  You 
received  a  note  from  the  Home  Office 
tliis  morning.  In  compliance  with 
that  note  have  you  prepared  your 
case  ?  "  —  "  Yes." 

*'  Will  you  Ijcgin  by  giving  me  an 
idea  what  the  nature  of  your  evidence 
will  l)e  ?  "  —  "A  |)age  or  two  of  print, 
—  twenty  of  manuscript,  —  three  or 


four  living  witnesses,  and  —  one  dead 
body." 

*'  Hum  !  he  seems  in  earnest,  crcntlc- 
men.  How  long  do  you  recjuire  to 
st.ite  your  case  f  Can  it  be  done  to- 
<lay  ?  "  Mr.  Lacy  lookecl  at  his  watch 
half  peevishly.  "  Half  an  hour,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  Oidy  half  an  hour  ?  " — "  Ay,  but 
half  an  hour  neat." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  neat  ?  "  — 
"The  minutes  not  to  be  counted  that 
are  wasted  in  idle  iiiterrujitioiis  or  in 
arguments  drawn  from  vague  prob- 
abilities where  direct  evidence  lies  un- 
der {>ur  senses.  P^or  instance,  that,  be- 
cause I  have  been  twenty-five  years  a 
servant  of  Christ  with  good  repute, 
tlierefore  it  is  not  to  be  credited  I  could 
bring  a  false  accusation  ;  or  that  be- 
(ause  Mr.  Hawes  was  lirave  twenty 
years  ago  in  one  set  of  circumstances, 
therefore  he  cannot  be  cruel  now  in 
another  set  of  circumstances." 

Mr.  Lacy  colored  a  little,  but  he. 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  then  coolly 
drew  out  of  his  jiocket  a  long  paper 
sealed.  "  Have  you  any  idea  what 
this  is  ?  " 

Mr.  Eden  caught  sight  of  the  di- 
rection ;  it  was  to  him-elf.  "  Prob- 
al)ly  my  dismissal  from  my  post  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

Ilawes  quivered  with  exultation. 

"  And  I  have  authority  to  present 
you  with  it  if  you  do  not  justify  the 
charges  you  have  made  against  a 
brotlier officer."  — "  Good !-"  said  ]Mr. 
Eden  "  This  is  intelligent  and  it  is 
just.  The  first  gleam  of  either  that 
has  come  into  this  dark  hole  since  I 
have  known  it.  I  augur  well  from 
this." 

"  This  is  a  character,  gentlemen." 

"  To  business,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Ed(n,  undoing  his  portfolio. 

"  Sir,"  put  in  Mr.  Hawes,  "  I  object 
to  an  ex  parte  statement  front  a  per- 
sonal enemy.  You  are  here  to  con- 
duct a  candid  inquiry,  not  to  see  the 
chaplain  conduct  a  hostile  one.  I  feel 
tliat  justice  is  safe  in  your  hands,  but 
not  in  his." 

"  iStop  a  bit,"  said   Mr.  Eden ;  "  I 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


177 


am  to  be  dismissed  unless  I  prove  cer- 
tain fticts.  See  !  the  Secretary  of  State 
has  put  me  on  my  defence.  I  will  in- 
trust that  defence  to  no  man  but  my- 
self." 

"You  are  keen,  sir,  but  —  you  are 
in  the  right ;  and  you,  Mr.  Hawcs,  will 
be  here  to  correct  his  errors,  and  to 
make  your  own  statement  after  he 
has  done,  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Ah  !  well !  "  thought  Hawes,  "  he 
can't  do  me  much  harm  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  Begin,  sir  !  "  and  he  looked  at  his 
watch. 

"  Mr.  Hawes,  I  want  your  book ; 
the  log-book  of  the  prison." 

"  Get  it,  Mr.  Hawes,  if  you  please." 
—  Mr.  Hawes  went  out. 

"  Mr.  Williams,  are  these  the  Prison 
Rules  by  Act  of  Parliament  ?  "  and 
he  showed  him  the  paper.  —  "  They 
are,  sir." 

"  Examine  them  closely,  Mr.  Lacy  ; 
they  contain  the  whole  discipline  of 
this  prison  as  by  law  established. 
Keep  them  before  you.  It  is  with 
these  you  will  have  to  compare  the 
jailer's  acts.  And  now,  how  many 
times  is  the  jailer  empowered  to  pun- 
ish any  given  prisoner  V  —  "  Once  ! 
on  a  second  offence  the  prisoner,  I 
see,  is  referred  for  punishment  to  the 
visiting  justices." 

"  If,  therefore,  this  jailer  has  taken 
upon  himself  to  punish  the  same  pris- 
oner twice,  he  has  broken  the  law." — 
"  At  all  events  he  has  gone  beyond 
the  letter  of  this  particular  set  of 
rules." 

"  But  these  rules  were  drawn  up  by 
lawyers,  and  are  based  on  the  law  of 
the  land.  A  jailer,  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  is  merely  a  head  turnkey  set  to 
guard  the  ])risoners  :  for  hundreds  of 
years  he  had  no  lawful  right  to  pun- 
ish a  prisoner  at  all ;  that  right  was 
first  bestowed  on  him  with  clear  limi- 
tations, by  an  act  passed  in  George 
the  Fourth's  reign,  which  I  must  show 
you,  because  that  act  is  a  jailer's  sole 
authority  for  punishing  a  prisoner  at 
all  ;  here  is  the  passage,  sir  ;  will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  read  it  out  1  " 


"  Hum  \  '  Tlie  keeper  of  ever >j  prison 
shall  Iiave  j)0(ver  to  luar  all  cornpluitits 
foKchiiifj  any  of  the  followhig  ojj'eruxs  : 
disobedience  of  the  prison  rules,  assaults 
btj  one  prisoHf-r  on  another  where  no  dan- 
gerous wound  is  given,  profane  cursi)i(j 
or  swearing,  any  indecent  behavior  at 
chapel,  idleness,  or  negligence  in  ,icork. 
21ie  said  keeper  may  punish  all  such  of- 
fences by  ordering  any  offender  to  close 
confinement  in  the  refractory  or  solitary 
cells,  and  by  keeping  such  offenders  upon 
bread  and  water  only,  for  any  term  not  ex- 
ceeding three  days.'  " 

"  Observe,"  "put  in  Mr.  Eden,  "  he 
can  only  punish  once,  and  then  not  se- 
lect the  punishment  according  to  his 
own  fancy ;  he  is  restricted  to  sep- 
arate confinement,  and  bread  and  wa- 
ter, and  three  days." 

Mr.  Lacy  continued  :  "  *  In  case 
any  criminal  prisoner  shall  be  guilty  of 
any  repealed  offence  against  the  rules  of 
the  prison,  or  of  any  greater  offence  than 
the  jailer  is  by  this  act  empowered  to 
punish,  the  said  jailer  shall  forthwith 
report  the  same  to  the  visiting  justices, 
who  can  punish  for  one  month,  or  felons 
or  those  sentenced  to  hard  labor,  by  per- 
sonal correction.'  " 

"  Such,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "  is  the 
law  of  England,  and  the  men  who 
laid  down  our  prison  rules  were  not 
so  ignorant  or  unscrupulous  as  to  run 
their  heads  against  the  statute  law  of 
the  land.  Nowhere  in  our  prison 
rules  will  you  find  any  power  given  to 
our  jailer  to  punihhany  but  minor  of- 
fences, or  to  punish  any  prisoner 
more  than  once,  or  to  inflict  any  vari- 
ety of  punishments.  Such  are  this 
jailer's  powers,  —  now  for  his  acts 
and  their  consequences,  —  follow 
me. 

"  Evans,  open  this  cell.  Jenkyns, 
what  are  you  in  prison  for  1  "  —  "  For 
running  away  from  sarvice,  your  rev- 
erence." 

"  How  often  have  you  been  pun- 
ished since  you  came  ? "  —  "A  good 
many  times,  your  reverence." 

"  By  the  visiting  justices  ?  "  — » 
"  No,  sir !  I  was  never  punished  by 
them,  only  by  the  governor." 


178 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


"  Wliat  have  been  your  offences  1  "  I 

—  "  I  don't  know,  sir;  I  never  nieiint 
to  olFcnd  at  all,  but  I  am  not  very 
stron;:,  and  the  <:ovcrnor  lie  puts  me 
on  a  hi-avy  crank,  and  then  1  can't 
always  do  the  work,  and  I  suj^pose  he 
tliinks  it  is  for  want  of  the  will,  and 
so  hg  jn^ives  it  me." 

"  I  low  has  he  punislied  you?"  — 
"  Oh  !  sometimes  it  is  clammin<^ : 
nothinj;  but  a  twopenny  roll  all  day, 
and  ke]»t  to  hard  work  all  the  same  , 
sonieiimes  my  bed  taken  away,  you 
know,  sir,  but  mostly  the  punishment 
jacket." 

Mr.  Fmci/.  "  The  punishment  jack- 
et !  what  is  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Eden.  "Look  in  the  prison 
rules  and  see  if  you  can  find  a  punish- 
ment jacket  :  meantime  come  with 
me.     Two  <,n-oss  violations  of  the  law, 

—  repetition  of  punishment,  and  va- 
riety of  puni^hmenls.  Evans,  open 
this  cell.     What  arc   you   in    for?" 

—  Prisoner  (taking  off"  his  cap  po- 
litely).    "Burjrlary,  gentlemen." 

"  liavc  you  been  often  refractory 
since  you  came  here  ?  "  —  "  Once  or 
twice,  sir  :  but  —  " 

"  But  what  ?  "  —  "  These  gentlemen 
arc  tlie  visiting  justices  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  —  "They  would  be  offend- 
ed if  I  told  the  truth." 

Mr.  Larif.  "  1  am  here  from  the 
Secretary  of  State,  and  1  bid  you  tell 
the  truth."  —  Prisoner.  "  Oh  !  arc 
you,  sir  ?  well,  then,  the  truth  is,  I 
never  was  refractory  but  once." 

Mr.  Lcicif.  "  Oh  !  you  were  refrac- 
tory once  ■?  "  —  Prisoner.    "  Yes,  sir  !  " 

Mr.  I  acy.  "  How  came  that  ?  "  — 
Prisoner.  "Well,  sir!  it  was  the  first 
week  ;  I  ha-1  never  been  in  a  separate 
cell  before,  and  it  drove  me  mad  ;  no 
one  came  near  me  or  spoke  a  word  to 
me,  and  I  turned  sava'_^e ;  I  didn't 
know  myself,  and  I  broke  everything 
in  the  cell." 

Mr.  Eden.  "  And  the  other  times  ?  " 


—  P 


The  other   times,  sir. 


I   was   called    refractory,  but  I  was 
not." 

Mr.    Eden.      "What   punishments 
have  been   inflicted   on   you   by    the 


governor  ?  "  —  Prisoner.  "  Well,  sir ! 
the  black  cell,  bread  and  water,  and 
none  of  that  ;  took  away  my  gas  once 
or  twire,  but  generally  it  was  the  pun- 
ishment jacket." 

Mr.  Lunf.  "  Hum !  the  punish- 
ment jacket." 

Mr.  Eden.  "  How  long  since  you 
had  the  ])unishmcnt  jacket  1  " —  Pris- 
oner.    "  No  longer  than  yesterday." 

Mr.  Eden.  '*  Strip,  my  man,  and 
let  us  look  at  your  back."  The  pris- 
oner stripjjed  and  showed  his  back, 
striped  livid  and  red  by  the  cutting 
straps. 

Mr.  Lacy  gave  a  start,  but  the  next 
moment  he  resumed  his  official  coin- 
l^osurc,  and  at  this  juncture  Mr.  Hawes 
bustled  into  the  cell  and  fixed  his  eye 
on  the  prisoner.  "  What  are  you 
doing  ?  "  said  he,  eying  the  man.  — 
"  The  gentleman  made  me  strip,  sir," 
said  the  prisoner,  with  an  ill-used  air. 

"  Have  you  any  complaint  to  make 
against  me  ?  "  —  "  Xo,  sir  ! " 

"  Then  what  have  you  been  hum- 
bugging us  for  all  this  time  ?  "  cried 
Mr.  Williams,  contemptuously. 

"  For  instance,"  cried  Mr.  Eden,  in 
the  same  tone,  glancing  slyly  at  Mr. 
Lacy,  "  how  dare  you  show  us  fright- 
ful wales  upon  your  back  when  you 
know  they  only  exist  in  your  imagi- 
nation—  and  mine." 

Mr.  Lacy  laughed.  "  That  is  true, 
he  can't  retract  liis  wales,  antl  I  shall 
he  glul  to  know  how  they  came 
there."     Here  he  made  a  note. 

"  I  will  show  you  by  and  by,"  said 
Mr.  Eden. 

The  next  two  cells  they  went  to, 
the  prisoners  assured  Mr.  L:u'y  that 
they  were  treated  like  Mr.  Hawes's 
children. 

"Well,  sir!"  said  Lacy,  with  evi- 
dent satisfaction,  "  what  do  you  .«ay 
to  that  1  "  —  "I  say,  use  your 
eyes."  And  he  wheeled  the  last 
prisoner  to  the  light.  "  Lcok  at  this 
imllow  eye  and  faded  cheek  ;  look  at 
this  trembling  frame  and  feel  this 
halting  pulse.  Here  is  a  poor  wretch 
crushed  and  quelled  by  cruelty  till 
scarce  a  vestige  of  man  is  left.     Look 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


179 


at  him  !  here  is  an  object  to  pretend 
to  you  tliat  he  has  been  kindly  used. 
Poor  wretch,  his  face  gives  the  lie  to 
his  tongue,  and  my  life  on  it  his  body 
coiitirnis  his  face.     !Strip,  my  lad." 

Mr.  Hawes  interposed,  and  said  it 
was  cruel  xo  make  a  prisoner  strip  to 
gratify  curiosity.  Mr.  Eden  laughed. 
"Come,  strip,"  said  he,  "the  gen- 
tleman is  waiting."  The  prisoner 
reluctantly  took  off  his  coat,  waistcoat, 
and  shirt,  and  displayed  an  emaciated 
person  and  several  large  livid  stripes 
on  his  back.     Mr.  Lacy  looked  grave. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  you  see  the  real 
reaiion  why  this  humane  gentleman 
did  not  like  the  prisoner  to  strip. 
Come  to  another.  Before  we  go  in  to 
this  one  let  me  ask  you  one  question  : 
Do  you  think  they  will  ever  tell  you 
the  truth  while  Mr.  Hawes's  eye  is  on 
them  1  "  —  "  Hum  !  they  certainly 
seem  to  stand  in  awe  of  Mr.  Hawes." 

Hawes.  "  But,  sir  !  you  see  how 
bitter  the  chaplain  is  against  me. 
Where  he  is  I  ought  to  be  if  I  am  to 
liave  fair  play."  —  "'  Certainly,  Mr. 
Hawes,  certainly!  that  is  but  fair." 

Mr.  Eden.  "What  are  you  in  for  ?  " 
—  Prisoner.  "  Taking  a  gentleman's 
wipe,  gentlemen." 

Mr.  Eden.  "  Have  you  been  often 
punished  ?  "  —  Prisoner.  "  Yes,  your 
reverence  !  Why,  you  know  I  have ; 
now  did  n't  you  save  my  life  when 
they  were  starving  me  to  death  two 
months  ago  ?  " 

Mr.  Lnoji.  "  How  did  he  save  your 
life  ?  "  —  Prisoner.  "  Made  'em  put 
me  on  the  sick-list,  and  put  something 
into  my  poor  belly." 

Mr.  L'icii.  "  What  state  was  the 
mnn  in,  Mr.  Eden?"  —  Mr.  Eden. 
"  He  was  like  a  skeleton,  and  so  weak 
that  he  could  only  speak  two  or  three 
words  at  a  time,  and  then  had  to  stop 
a  long  while  and  recover  strength  to 
say  two  or  three  more.  I  did  not 
think  a  human  creature  could  be  so 
near  death  and  not  die." 

Mr.  Eacij.  "  And  did  you  know 
the  cause  ?  "  —  Mr.  Eden.  ' '  Frankly, 
I  did  not.  I  had  not  at  that  time 
fcithomed  all  the  horrors  of  this  place." 


Mr.  Lacy.  "  Did  you  tell  the 
chaplain  at  the  time  you  were  starv- 
ing f  —  Prisoner.     "  No  !  " 

Mr.  Eden.  "  And  why  not  ?  " — Mr. 
Hawes.  '*  Simply  because  he  never 
was  starving." — Prisoner.  "Well! 
I  '11  tell  you,  gentlemen  ;  his  reverence 
said  to  me, '  My  poor  fellow,  you  are 
very  ill,  —  I  must  have  you  on  the 
sick-list  directly  ' ;  and  then  he  went 
for  the  doctor.  Now  I  knew  if  I  got 
on  the  sick-list  they  would  fill  my 
belly  ;  so  I  said  to  myself,  best  let 
well  alone.  If  I  had  told  him  it  was 
only  starvation,  he  would  not  interfere, 
I  thought." 

Mr.  Lacy  opened,  his  eyes.  Mr. 
Eden  sighed. 

Mr.  Lacij.  "  You  seem  to  have  a 
poor  opinion  of  lier  Majesty's  offi- 
cers." —  Prisoner.  "  Did  n't  know 
him,  you  see,  —  didn't  know  his  char- 
acter ;  the  humbug  that  was  here 
before  him  would  have  let  a  poor 
fellow  be  kicked  into  his  grave  before 
his  eyes,  and  not  hold  out  a  hand  to 
save  hinj." 

Mr.  Lacy.  "  Let  me  understand 
you,  —  were  you  kept  without  food  1  " 

—  Prisoner.  "  I  was  a  day  and  a 
half  without  any  food  at  all." 

Mr.  Lucy.     "By  whose  orders'?" 

—  Prisoner.  "  By  the  governor's 
there,  and  I  was  a  week  on  a  twopen- 
ny loaf  once  a  day,  and  kept  at  hard 
work  on  that  till  I  dropped.  Ah, 
your  reverence,  I  shall  never  forget 
your  face.  I  should  be  under  the  sod 
now,  if  it  was  not  for  you  ! " 

Williams.  "  You  rascal,  the  last 
time  I  was  here  you  told  me  you 
never  were  so  happy  and  comfortable." 

—  Prisoner.  "  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  hee  ! 
hee  !  haw  !  haw  !  ho !  I  ask  your  par- 
don for  laughing,  sir ;  but  you  are  so 
precious  green.  Why,  if  I  had  told 
you  the  truth  then,  I  should  n't  be 
alive  to  talk  to  you  now." 

"  What,  I  shonld  have  murdered 
you,  should  I,"  said  Mr.  Halves,  with 
a  lofty  sneer.  —  "  Why,  you  know  you 
would,  sir,"  replied  the  prisoner,  firmly 
and  respectfully,  looking  him  full  ia 
the  face  before  them  all. 


180 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


Mr.  Lacy.  "You  don't  think  so, 
or  you  would  not  take  these  liberties 
with  liiin  now."  The  prisoner  cast  a 
loulv  ofpity  on  Mr.  Lacy.  "  Well,  you 
«/fi  i;rceii,  —  what,  can't  you  see  tlint  I 
am  j^uitij;  out  to-»lay  ?  l)o  you  think 
I  \1  be  such  a  cully  as  to  tell  a  pack  of 
greenhorns  like  you  the  trutli  before 
a  sharp  lianil  like  our  «,-ovenior,  if  I 
was  in  his  power;  no,  my  term  of  im- 
prisonment expired  at  twelve  o'clock 
lo-ilav." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here '?"  —  "!  '11 
tell  you,  sir,  our  governor  always  de- 
taiii.s  a  prisoner  for  hours  after  the  law 
sets  iiim  free :  so  then  the  poor  fellow 
lias  not  time  toj::etback  to  bis  friends, 
so  then  he  sleeps  in  the  town,  ten  to 
one  at  a  pul)lic-house  ;  j:ets  a  glass, 
gets  into  bad  company,  and  in  a  month 
or  two  comes  bark  here  ;  that  is  the 
move,  sir.  Bless  you,  they  are  so  fond 
of  us  they  don't  like  to  part  with  us 
for  good  and  all." 

Mr.  Lactj.  "  I  do  not  for  a  moment 
believe,  Mr.  Ilawes,  that  you  have 
foreseen  these  consequences,  but  the 
detention  of  this  man  after  twelve 
o'clock  is  clearly  illegal,  and  you  must 
liberate  him  on  the  instant."  —  Mr. 
Ilaires.  "  That  I  will,  and  I  wish 
tliis  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  be- 
fore, but  it  was  a  custom  of  the  prison 
before  my  time." 

Mr.  Eden.  "  Evans,  come  this  way, 
come  in  ;  how  long  have  you  been 
a  turnkey  here?"  —  Evans.  "Four 
years,  sir." 

Mr.  Eden.  *'  Do  you  happen  to  re- 
member the  practice  of  the  late  gov- 
ernor with  respect  to  prisoners  whose 
sentence  had  expired  ?  "  —  Evmis. 
"  Yes,  sir !  They  were  kept  in  their 
cells  all  the  morning  :  then  at  eleven 
their  own  clothes  were  brought  in 
clean  and  dry  ;  and  they  had  half  an 
liour  given  them  to  take  off  the  prison 
dress  and  put  oti  their  own.  Then  a 
little  bi'fore  twelve  they  were  taken 
into  the  governor's  own  room  for  a 
woid  of  friendly  advice  on  leaving,  or 
a  iiood  book,  or  a  tract,  or  what  not. 
Then  at  sharp  twelve  the  gate  was 
opened  for  them,  aud  —  " 


Prisoner.  "Good  by,  —  till  we  see 
you  again." 

Eruns  (sternly).  "  Come,  my  man, 
it  is  not  for  you  to  speak  till  you  are 
spoken  to." 

Mr.  Eden.  "  You  must  not  take 
that  tone  with  the  gentleman,  Evans, 
—  this  is  not  a  queen's  prisoner,  it  is 
a  private  guest  of  Mr.  Ilawes.  But 
time  Hies.  If,  after  what  we  have 
heard  and  seen,  you  still  doubt  wheth- 
er this  jailer  has  broken  the  law  by 
punishing  the  same  prisoner  more 
than  once,  and  in  more  ways  than 
one,  fresh  evidence  will  meet  you  at 
every  step,  but  i  would  now  direct 
your  principal  attention  to  other 
jioints.  Look  at  Rule  37.  By  this 
rule  each  prisoner  must  be  visited  and 
conversed  with  by  four  officers  every- 
day, and  they  are  to  stay  with  him 
upon  the  aggregate  half  an  hour  in 
the  day.  Now  the  object  of  this  rule 
is  to  save  the  j)risoners  from  dying 
under  the  natural  and  inevitable  op- 
eration of  solitude  and  enforced  silence, 
two  things  that  are  fatal  to  life  and 
reason." 

"  But  solitary  confinement  is  legal." 

Mr  Eden  sighed  heavily,  "  No,  it 
is  not  :  separate  conHneinent,  1.  e. 
separation  of  prisoner  from  prisoner 
is  legal,  but  separation  of  a  prisoner 
from  the  hum  m  race  is  as  illegal  as 
any  other  mode  of  homicide.  It  never 
was  legal  in  England  ;  it  was  legal  for 
a  short  time  in  the  United  States,  and 
do  you  know  why  it  has  been  made 
illegal  there  1  "  — "  No,  I  do  jiot." 

"  Because  they  found  that  life  and 
reason  went  out  under  it  liki'  the  snutf 
of  a  candle.  Men  went  mad  and 
died,  as  men  have  gone  mad  and  (lie<l 
here  through  the  habitual  breach  of 
Kule  37,  a  rule  the  aim  of  which  is 
to  guard  separate  confinement  from 
being  shuffled  into  solitary  confine- 
ment or  homicide.  Take  twenty  cells 
at  random,  and  ask  the  prisoners 
how  many  officers  come  and  say  uood 
words  to  tlicm  as  bound  by  law  ;  ask 
them  whether  they  get  their  half-hour 
per  diem  of  improving  conversation. 
There  is  a  row  of  shambles,  go  into 


«IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


181 


them  by  yourself,  take  neither  the 
heat]  butcher  nor  me." 

Mr.  Lacy  bit  his  lip,  bowed  stiffly, 
and  beckoned  Evans  to  accompany 
him  into  the  cells.  Mr.  Hawes  went 
in  search  of  Fry,  to  concert  what  was 
best  to  be  done.  Mr,  Eden  paced  the 
corridor.  As  for  Mr.  Lacy,  he  took 
the  cells  at  random,  skipping  here 
and  there.  At  last  he  returned  and 
sent  tor  Mr.  Hawes. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  37th 
rule  has  been  habitually  violated  ;  the 
prisoners  are  unanimous ;  they  tell 
me  that,  so  far  from  half  an  hour's 
conversation,  they  never  have  three 
minutes',  except  with  the  chaplain  : 
and  during  liis  late  illness  they  were 
often  in  perfect  solitude.  They  tell 
me  too  that  when  you  do  look  in  it  is 
only  to  terrily  them  with  angry  words 
and  threats.  Solitude  broken  only 
by  hassli  language  is  a  very  sad  con- 
dition for  a  human  creature  to  lie  in, 
—  the  law,  it  seems,  does  not  sanction 
it,  — and  our  own  imperfections  should 
plead  against  such  terrible  severity 
applied  indiscriminately  to  great  and 
small  offenders."  —  "O,  that  is  well 
said,  that  is  nobly  said,"  cried  Mr. 
Eden,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Sir !  I  was  put  in  here  to  carry 
out  the  discipline  which  had  been  re- 
laxed by  the  late  governor,  and  I 
have  but  obeyed  orders  as  it  was  my 
duty." 

"  Nonsense,"  retorted  Mr.  Eden. 
"  The  discipline  of  this  jail  is  com- 
prised in  these  rules,  of  which  eight 
out  of  ten  are  habitually  broken  by 
you." 

"  He  is  right  there  so  far,  Mr. 
Hawes  :  yon  are  here  to  maintain,  not 
an  imaginary  discipline,  but  an  exist- 
intr  discipline  strictly  defined  by  print- 
ed rules,  and  it  seems  clear  you  have 
committed  (throuL'h  ignorance)  seri- 
ous breaches  of  the-^e  rules  ;  but  let 
us  hope,  Mr.  Eden,  that  no  irreparable 
consequences  have  followed  this  un- 
luckv  broach  of  Rule  .37." 

"  Irreparable  ?  No  !  "  replied  Mr. 
Eden,  bitterly.  "  The  Home  Office 
can  call  men  back  from   the  grave, 


can't  it  ?  Here  is  a  list  of  five  men 
all  extinguished  in  this  prison  by 
breach  of  Rule  37.  You  start :  un- 
derstand me,  this  is  but  a  small  por- 
tion of  those  who  have  been  done  to 
death  here  in  various  ways  ;  but  tliesc 
five  dropped  silently  "like  autumn 
leaves  by  breach  of  Rule  37.  Rule 
37  is  one  of  the  safety-valves,  which 
the  law,  more  humane  than  the  block- 
heads who  execute  it,  has  attached  to 
that  terrible  engine,  separate  confine- 
ment." 

"  I  cannot  accept  this  without  evi- 
dence." 

"  I  have  a  book  here  that  contains 
ample  evidence ;  you  shall  see  it. 
Meantime  I  will  just  ask  that  turn- 
key about  Hatchett,  the  first  name  on 
your  list  of  victims.  Evans,  what 
did  you  find  in  Hatchett's  cell  when 
he  was  first  discovered  to  be  dying  ?  " 
—  "  Eighteen  loaves  of  bread,  sir,  on 
the  floor  in  one  corner." 

"Eighteen  loaves'?  I  really  don't 
understand." 

•'  Don't  you  1  —  how  could  eighteen 
loaves  have  accumulated  but  by  the 
man  rejecting  his  food  for  several 
days  ?  How  could  they  have  accu- 
mulated unobserved  if  Rule  37  had 
not  been  habitually  broken?  Alas! 
sir,  Hatchett's  story,  which  I  see  is 
still  dark  to  you,  is  as  plain  as  my 
hand  to  all  of  us  who  know  the  fatal 
effects  of  solitary  or  homicidal  con- 
finement. Thus,  sir,  it  was:  —  Un- 
sustained  by  rational  employment, 
uncheered  by  the  sound  of  a  human 
voice,  torn  out  by  the  roots  from  all 
healthy  contact  with  the  human  race, 
the  prisoner  Hatchett's  heart  and 
brain  gave  way  together ;  being  now 
melancholy  mad,  he  shunned  the  food 
that  was  jerked  blindly  into  his  cell, 
like  a  bone  to  a  wolf,  by  this  scientilic 
contrivance  to  make  brute  fling  food 
to  brute,  instead  of  man  handing  it 
with  a  smile  to  grateful  man  ;  and  so 
his  body  sank  (his  spirits  and  reason 
had  succumbed  before),  and  he  died. 
His  offence  was  refusing  to  share  his 
wages  with  a  woman  from  whom  he 
would   have  been   divorced  but  that 


182 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


he  was  too  poor  to  buy  justice  at  so 
dear  a  shop  as  the  House  of  Lords. 
The  law  condemiKid  him  to  a  short 
imprisonment.  The  jailer  on  his 
own  authority  substituted  capital  pun- 
ishment." 

"  Is  it  your  pleasure,  sir,  that  I 
should  be  vilified  and  insulted  thus 
to  my  very  foce,  and  by  my  inferior 
officer  ?  "  asked  Hawes,  changing  col- 
or. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  apprehend 
except  from  facts,"  was  the  some- 
what cold  reply.  "  You  are  aware 
I  do  not  share  this  gentleman's  pre- 
judices " 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  a  man  in 
the  act  of  pu-rishing  through  the  habit- 
ual breach  of  Kule  37  in Jail  ?  " 

"  Can  you  show  me  such  a  case  1  " 
—  "  Come  with  me." 

They  entered  Strutt's  cell.  They 
found  the  old  man  in  a  state  border- 
ing on  stupor.  When  the  door  was 
opened  he  gave  a  start,  but  speedily 
relapsed  into  stupor. 

'*  Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  here  is  a  lesson 
for  you.  Would  to  God  I  could  show 
this  sijiht  to  all  the  pedants  of  sci- 
ence who  spend  their  useless  lives  in 
studying  the  limbs  of  the  crustaceo- 
nidunculaj,  and  are  content  to  know 
so  little  al)0ui  man's  glorious  body  ; 
and  to  all  the  state  dunces  who  give 
sordid  blockheads  the  power  to  wreck 
the  brains  and  bodies  of  wicked  men 
in  these  the  clandestine  shambles  of 
the  nation.  Would  I  could  show 
these  and  all  other  numskulls  in  the 
land  this  dying  man,  that  they  might 
write  this  one  great  truth  in  blood  on 
their  cold  hearts  and  muddy  under- 
standings. Alas !  all  great  truths 
have  to  be  written  in  blood  ere  man 
will  receive  them." 

"  But  what  is  your  great  truth  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Lacy,  impatiently. 

"  This,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Eden," 
putting  his  finger  on  the  stupefied 
prisoner's  shoulder  and  keeping  it 
there;  "that  the  human  body,  be- 
sides its  grosser  wants  of  food  and 
covering,  has  it^  more  delicate  needs, 
robbed  of  which  it  perishes  more  slow- 


ly and  subtly  but  as  surely  as  when 
frozen  or  starved.  One  of  these  sub- 
tle l)ut  absolute  conditions  of  health 
is  light.  Without  light  the  body  of 
a  blind  man  pines  as  piiles  a  tree 
without  light.  Tell  that  to  the  im- 
postor physical  science  deep  in  the 
crustaceonidunculse  and  ignorant  of 
the  A  B  C  of  man.  .Without  light 
man's  bo<ly  perishes,  with  insufficient 
light  it  droops  ;  and  here  in  all  these 
separate  shambles  is  insufficient  light, 
a  defect  in  our  system  which  co-op- 
erates with  this  individual  jailer's 
abuse  of  it.  Another  of  the  body's 
absolute  needs  is  work.  Another  is 
conversation  with  human  beings.  If 
by  isolating  a  vulgar  mind,  that  has 
collected  no  healthy  food  to  feed  on 
in  time  of  dearth,  you  starve  it  to  a 
stand-still,  the  body  runs  down  like  a 
watch  that  has  not  been  wound  up. 
Against  this  law  of  nature  it  *is  not 
only  impious  but  idiotic  to  struggle. 
Almighty  God  has  made  man  so,  and 
so  he  will  remain  while  the  world 
lasts.  A  little  destructive  blockhead 
like  this  can  knock  God's  work  to 
pieces,  —  ecce  signum,  —  but  he  can  no 
more  alter  it  while  it  stands  than  he 
can  mend  it  when  he  has  let  it  down 
and  smashed  it.  Feel  this  man's 
pulse  and  look  at  his  eye :  life  is 
ebbing  from  him  by  a  law  of  nature 
as  uniform  as  that  which  governs  the 
tides." 

"  His  pulse  is  certainly  very  low, 
and  when  I  first  felt  it  he  was  trem- 
bling all  over." 

"  O,  that  was  the  agitation  of  his 
nerves,  —  we  opened  the  door  sud- 
denly." 

"  And  did  that  make  a  man  trem- 
ble ?  "  —  "  Certainly  ;  that  is  a  well- 
known  symptom  of  solitary  confine- 
ment ;  it  is  by  shattering  a  man's 
nerves  all  to  pieces  that  it  prepares 
the  way  for  his  death,  which  death 
comes  sometimes  in  raging  lunacy,  of 
which  eight  men  have  died  under  Mr. 
Hawes's  reign.  Here  is  the  list  of 
deaths  by  lunacy  from  breach  of  Rule 
37,  eight.  You  will  have  the  particu- 
lars bj'  and  by." 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


183 


"  I  really  don't  see  my  way  through 
this,"  siiicl  Mr.  Lacy,  "  let  us  come  to 
sornethin<jj  tanj^ible.  What  is  this  pun- 
ishment jacket  tliat  leaves  marks  of 
personal  violence  on  so  many  pris- 
oners f  " 

Now  Hawes  had  been  looking  for 
this  macliine  to  liide  it,  but,  to  his  sur- 
prise, neither  he  nor  Fry  could  find  it. 

"  Evans,  fetch  the  infernal  ma- 
chine." —  •'  Yes,  your  reverence." 
Evans  brought  tlie  jacket,  straps,  and 
collar  from  a  cell  where  he  had  hidden 
them  by  Mr.  Eden's  orders. 

"  You  play  the  game  pretty  close, 
parson,"  said  Mr.  Hawes,  with  an  at- 
tempt at  a  sneer. 

"  I  play  to  win  :  I  am  playing  for 
human  lives.  This,  sir,  is  the  torture, 
marks  of  which  you  have  seen  on 
the  prisoners  ;  but  your  inexperience 
will  not  detect  at  a  glance  all  the  dia- 
bolical ingenuity  and  cruelty  that 
lurks  in  this  piece  of  linen  and  these 
straps  of  leather.  However,  it  works 
thus  :  —  The  man  being  in  the  jacket, 
its  back  straps  are  drawn  so  tight  that 
the  sufferer's  breath  is  impeded,  and 
his  heart,  lungs,  and  liver  are  forced 
into  unnatural  contact.  You  stare. 
I  must  inform  you  that  Nature  is  a 
wonderfully  close  packer.  Did  you 
ever  unpack  a  human  trunk  of  its 
stomach,  liver,  lungs,  and  heart,  and 
then  try  to  replace  them  ?  I  have ;  and, 
believe  me,  as  no  gentleman  can  pack 
like  a  shopman,  so  no  shopman  can 
pack  like  Nature.  The  victim's  body 
and  organs  being  crushed,  these  two 
long  straps  fasten  him  so  tight  to  the 
wall  that  he  cannot  move  to  ease  the 
frightful  cramps  that  soon  attack  him. 
Then  steps  in  by  way  of  climax  this 
collar  three  inches  and  a  half  high. 
See,  it  is  as  stiff  as  iron,  and  the  mis- 
creants have  left  the  edges  unbound 
that  it  may  do  the  work  of  a  man-saw 
as  well  as  a  garotte.  In  this  iron 
three-handed  gripe  the  victim  writhes 
and  sobs  and  moans  with  anguish, 
and,  worse  than  all,  loses  his  belief  in 
God." 

"  This  is  a  stern  picture/*  said  Mr. 
Lacy,  hanging  his  head. 


"  Until,  what  with  the  freezing  of 
the  blood  in  a  body  jammed  together 
and  flattened  against  a  wall,  what 
with  the  crushed  respiration  and  the 
cowed  heart,  a  deadly  faintness  creeps 
over     the    victim,    and     he    swoons 


away 


—  "Oh! 


It  is  a  lie, — a  base,  malignant 
lie  !  "  shouted  Hawes.  —  "I  am  glad 
to  hear  it,  Mr.  Hawes." 

Here  the  justices  with  great  heat 
joined  in,  and  told  Mr.  Lacy  he  would 
be  much  to  blame  if  he  accepted  any 
statement  made  against  so  respectable 
a  man  as  Mr.  Hawes.  Then  they  all 
turned  indignantly  on  Mr.  Eden. 
That  gentleman's  eyes  sparkled  with 
triumph. 

"  I  have  been  trying  a  long  time  to 
make  him  speak,  but  he  was  too  cun- 
ning. It  is  a  lie,  is  it  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  it 
is  a  lie." 

''  What  is  a  lie  ?  "  —  "  The  whole 
thing." 

"  Give  me  your  book,  Mr.  Hawes. 
What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  punish- 
ment jacket,'  an  entry  that  appears  so 
constantly  here  in  your  handwrit- 
ing 1  "  —  "I  never  denied  the  jack- 
et!" 

"  Then  what  is  the  lie  of  which  you 
have  accused  me  ?  Show  me, — that 
I  may  ask  your  pardon  and  His  I 
serve,  for  so  great  a  sin  as  a  lie."  — 
"  It  is  a  lie  to  say  that  the  jacket  tor- 
tures the  prisoners  and  makes  them 
faint  away ;  it  only  confines  them. 
You  want  to  make  me  out  a  villain, 
but  it  is  your  own  bad  heart  that 
makes  you  think  so,  or  say  so  without 
thinking  it." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Lacy,  I  think  we  have 
caught  our  eel.  This  then  is  the 
ground  you  take  ;  if  it  Avere  true  that 
this  enjiine,  instead  of  merely  con- 
fining men,  tortured  them  to  fainting, 
then  you  say  you  would  be  a  villain. 
You  hesitate,  sir  ;  can't  you  afford  to 
adinit  that,  after  alP  "  —  "Yes,  I 
can." 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  you  say  it 
is  untrue  that  this  engine  tortures  1  " 
—  "  I  do." 

"Prove  that  by  going  into  it  for 


184 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


one  hour.  I  have  seen  you  put  a  man 
ill  it  for  six."  —  "Now,  do  you  real- 
ly tliiiik  I  am  ixoiw^  to  make  myself 
a  lau^lung-8tock  to  the  whole  pris- 
on ?  " 

"  Well,  but  consider  what  a  triuirtph 
you  are  denyinj^  yourself,  to  prove 
me  a  liar  and  yourself  a  true  man. 
It  would  be  the  greatest  feat  of 
dialecties  the  world  ever  saw ;  and 
you  neeil  not  stand  on  your  dignity,  — 
bt'trer  mt-n  tiian  you  have  been  in  it, 
and  there  goes  one  of  them.  Here, 
P^vans,  come  this  way.  We  want  you 
to  go  into  the  punishment  jaeket." 
The  man  recoiled  with  a  ludicrous 
face  of  disgust  and  dismay.  Mr. 
Lacy  smiled.  —  "Now,  your  rever- 
ence, don't  tliinkof  it.  I  don't  want 
to  earn  no  more  guineas  that  way." 

"  What  does  he  mean  1 "  asked 
Mr.  Lacy.  —  "I  gave  him  a  guinea 
to  go  into  it  for  half  an  hour,  and  he 
calls  it  a  hard  bargain." 

"  O,  you  have  been  in  it  then  ?  Tell 
me,  is  it  torture  or  is  it  only  confine- 
ment ? "  —  "  Confinement !  con-found 
such  confinement,  I  say.  Yes,  it  is 
torture  and  the  worst  of  torture.  Ask 
his  reverence,  he  has  been  in  the 
oven  as  well  as  me,"  Mr.  Lacy 
opened  his  eyes  wide.  —  "  What !  " 
said  he,  with  a  half-grin,  "  have  you 
been  in  it  ?  " — "  That  he  has,  sir,"  said 
Evans,  grinning  out  in  return.  "  Bless 
you,  his  reverence  is  not  the  one  to 
ask  a  poor  man  to  stand  any  pain 
he  daren't  face  himself." 

"  There,  there,  we  don't  want  to 
hear  about  his  reverence,"  said  his 
reverence,  very  sharply.  "  Mr.  Hawes 
says  it  is  not  torture,  and  therefore 
he  won't  face  it  '  It  is  too  laughable 
and  painless  for  me,'  says  slippery 
Mr.  Hawes,  'It  is  torture  and  there- 
fore I  won't  face  it,'  saA^s  the  more 
logical  Mr.  Evans.  But  we  can  cut 
this  knot  for  you,  Mr.  Lacy.  There 
are  in  this  dungeon  a  large  body  of 
men  so  steeped  in  misery,  so  use.i  to 
torture  for  their  daily  food,  thnt  they 
will  not  be  so  nice  as  Messrs,  Hawes 
and  Evans,  '  Fiat  cxperimentum  m 
corpore    vili.'        Follow     me,    sir  ; 


and  as  we  go  pray  cast  your  eyes 
over  the  prison-rules,  and  see  wheth- 
er you  can  rind  '  a  punishment  jack- 
et.'"^ No,  sir,  you  will  not  find 
even  a  Spanish  collar,  or  a  |»illory, 
or  a  cross,  far  less  a  punishment  jack- 
et which  combines  those  several  hor- 
rors." 

Mr.  Hawes  hung  back  and  begged 
a  word  with  the  justices.  "  Gen- 
tlemen, you  have  always  been  good 
kind  friends  to  me,  —  give  me  a  word 
of  advice,  or  at  least  let  me  know  your 
])leasure.  Shall  I  resign,  —  shall  I 
fling  my  commission  in  this  man's 
f  ICC  who  comes  here  to  usurp  your 
office  and  authority  ?  " 

"Resign!  Nonsense  !"  said  Mr. 
Williams.  "  Statid  firm.  We  will 
stand  by  you,  and  who  can  hint  you 
then  ?  "  —  "  You  are  very  good,  sir. 
Without  you  I  could  n't  put  up  with 
any  more  of  this,  —  to  be  baited  and 
badgered  in  my  own  prison,  after 
serving  my  Queen  so  many  years  by 
sea  and  land." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Mr.  Wood- 
cock. 

"  And  how  can  I  make  head  against 
such  a  man  as  Eden,  —  a  lawyer  in 
a  parson's  skin,  an  orator  loo  that 
has  a  hundred  words  to  say  to  my 
one  ?  " 

"  Let  him  talk  till  he  is  hoarse,  we 
will  not  let  him  hurt  yo'ii." 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen, —  thank 
you.  Your  wishes  have  alwajs  been 
my  law.  You  bid  me  endure  all  this 
insolence ;  honored  by  your  good 
opinion  and  supported  by  your  prom- 
i^^e  to  stand  by  me,  I  will  endure 
it,"  And  Mr.  Hawes  was  seen  to 
throw  off  the  uneasiness  he  had  put 
on  to  bind  the  magistrates  to  his  de- 
fence. 

"  They  are  coming  back  again." 

"Who  is  this  with  them?"  —  Mr. 
Hawes  muttered  an  oath.  "  It  is  a 
refractory  prisoner  I  had  sent  to  the 
dark  cell.  I  suppose  they  will  exam- 
ine him  next,  and  take  his  word 
against  mine." 

(Jhoriis  of  Visiting  Justices. 
"  Shame ! " 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND.' 


185 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Mr.  Eden  had  taken  Mr.  Lacy  to 
the  (laik  cells.  Evans,  who  had  no 
key  of  thein,  was  sent  to  fetch  Fry  to 
open  tliem.  "  We  will  kill  two  birds 
Avitli  one  stone,  —  disinter  a  patient 
for  our  leathern  gallows,  and  a  fresh 

incident  of  the r  Inquisition.  Open 

this  door,  Mr.  Fry." 

Tlie  door  was  opened.  A  feeble 
voice  uttered  a  quavering  cry  of  joy 
that  sounded  like  wailing,  and  a  ligure 
emerged  so  suddenly  and  distinctly 
from  the  blackness,  that  Mr.  Lacy 
staned.  It  was  Thomas  Robinson, 
wlio  crept  out  white  and  shaking,  with 
a  wild,  haggard  look.  He  ran  to  Mr. 
Eden  like  a  great  girl.  "  Don't  let 
nie  go  back,  —  don't  let  me  go  hack, 
sir ! "  And  the  cowed  ono  could 
harillv  help  whimpering. 

"  Come,  courage,  my  lad,"  rang  out 
Mr.  Eden,  "your  troubles  are  nearly 
over.     Feel  this  man's  hand,  sir." 

"  How  he  tremldes !  Why,  he 
must  be  chicken-hearted."  —  "  No  ! 
only  he  is  one  of  your  men  of  action, 
not  of  passive  fortitude.  He  is  imai^i- 
native  too,  and  suffers  remorse  for  his 
crimes  without  the  soothing  comfort 
of  penitence.  Twenty-four  hours  of 
that  hole  would  deprive  him  or  any 
such  nature  of  the  light  of  reason." 

"Is  this  a  mere  opinion,  or  do  you 

propose  to  otFcr  me  proof?  " —  "  Six 

men  driven  by  this  means  alone  to  the 

K^    lunatic   asylum,   of  whom   two   died 

f'  ^   there  soon  alter." 

"  Hum  !  of  what  nature  is  your 
proof?  I  cannot  receive  assertion."  — 
"  Entries  made  at  the  time  by  a  man 
of  iininipeachabic  honesty." 

"  Indeed  !  "  —  "  Who  "hates  me  and 
adores  Mr.  Hawes." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Eden,"  replied  the 
other,  keenly  ;  "  whatever  you  support 
by  such  evidence  as  that  I  will  accept 
as  f  ict  and  act  upon  it."  —  "  Done  !  " 

"  Done  !  "  and  Mr.  Lacy  smiled 
gnod-humoredly,  but  it  must  be  owned 
incredulously.  "  Is  that  proof  at 
hand  ?  "  he  added.  —  "  It  is.  But  one 
thing  at  a   time,  —  the  leathern  gal- 


lows is  the  iniquity  we  are  unearthing 
at  present.  Ah!  here  areMr.  Hawes 
and  his  subordinates." 

"  Suborditiates  '?  " —  "  You  will  see 
why  I  call  them  so." 
'  Mr.  Williams.  "  I  trust  you  will 
not  accept  the  evidence  of  a  refractory 
prisoner  against  an  honest,  well-tried 
officer,  whose  conduct  for  two  years 
past  we  have  watched  and  approved." 

Mr.  Lacy  replied  with  dignity : 
"  Your  good  opinion  of  Mr.  Hawes 
shall  weigh  in  his  favor  at  every  part 
of  the  evidence,  but  you  must  not  dic- 
tate to  me  the  means  by  which  I  am 
to  arrive  at  the  truth." 

Mr.  Williams  bit  his  lip,  and  was 
red  and  silent. 

"  But,  your  reverence,"  cried  Rob- 
inson, "  don't  let  me  be  called  a  re- 
fractory prisoner,  when  you  know  I 
am  not." 

"  Then  w^hat  were  you  in  the  black- 
hole  for  1  "  —  "  For  obeying  orders," 

"  Nonsense  !  hum  !  explain."  — 
"  His  reverence  said  to  me,  '  You 
are  a  good  writer;  write  your  own 
life  down.  See  how  you  like  it  when 
you  look  at  it  with  reason's  eye,  in- 
stead of  passion's,  all  spread  out  be- 
fore you  in  its  true  colors.  Tell  the 
real  facts, — no  false  coin,  nor  don't 
put  any  sentiments  down  you  don't 
feel  to  please  me,  —  I  shall  only  de- 
spise you,'  said  his  reverence.  Well, 
sir,  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  so  of  course 
I  could  see  how  wise  his  reverence 
was,  and  how  much  good  miixht  come 
to  my  poor  sinful  soul  by  doing  his 
bidding ;  and  I  said  a  little  prayer  he 
had  taught  me  against  a  self-deceiv- 
ing heart,  —  his  reverence  is  always 
letting  fly  at  self-deception,  —  and 
then  I  sat  down  and  I  said,  '  Now  I 
won't  tell  a  single  lie,  or  make  my- 
self a  pin  better  or  worse  than  I  really 
am.'  Well,  gentlemen,  I  had  n't 
written  two  pages  when  Mr.  Fry 
found  me  out  and  toid  the  governor, 
and  the  governor  had  me  shoved  in- 
to the  black-hole  where  you  found 
me." 

"This  is  Mr.  Fry,  I  think?"  — 
"  My  name  is  Fry." 


186 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  Was  this  prisoner  sent  to  the 
bliick-hole  nDcrcIy  for  writiii<;  his  life 
by  the  chaplain's  orders^"  —  "You 
must  ask  the  frovernor,  sir.  My 
business  is  to  report  offences,  and  to 
execute  orders  ;  1  don't  give  'em." 

"  Mr.  Hawfs,  was  he  sent  to  the 
black-hole  for  doing  what  the  chap- 
lain had  set  him  to  do  by  way  of  a 
moral  lesson?" — "He  was  sent  for 
scribbling  a  pack  of  lies  without  my 
leave." 

"  What !  when  he  had  the  permis- 
sion of  your  superior  officer."  —  "  Of 
my  superior  officer  ?  " 

"  Your  superior  in  the  department 
of  instruction,  I  mean.  Can  you 
doubt  that  he  is  so,  with  these  rules 
before  you  1  Let  me  read  you  one  of 
them:  'Rule  18.  All  prisoners ^  in- 
cludiiKj  those  sentenced  to  hard  labor, 
are  to  have  such  time  allowed  them  for 
instruction  as  the  chaplain  ma  if  think 
proper,  whether  such  instruction  icith- 
draw  them  from  their  labor  for  n  time  or 
not.'  And  again,  by  '  Rule  30,  Each 
prisoner  is  to  have  every  means  of  moral 
and  rclif/ious  instruction  the  chaplain 
nhall  select  for  each  as  suitable.'  So  that 
you  have  passed  out  of  your  own  de- 
partment into  a  higher  department, 
which  Avas  a  breach  of  discipline,  and 
you  have  affronted  the  head  of  that 
department  and  strained  your  authori- 
ty to  undermine  his,  and  this  in  the 
face  of  Rule  18,  which  establishes  this 
principle  :  that,  should  the  severities 
of  the  prison  claim  a  prisoner  by  your 
mouth,  and  religious  or  moral  in- 
struction claim  him  by  the  chaplain's, 
your  department  must  give  way  to 
the  higher  department." 

"  This  is  very  new  to  me,  sir;  but 
if  it  is  the  law —  " 

"  Why,  you  see  it  is  the  law,  print- 
ed for  your  guidance.  I  undo  your 
act,  Mr.  Hawes  :  the  pri-oner  Robin- 
son will  obey  the  cha]>lain  in  all 
things  that  relate  to  religious  or  mor- 
al instruction,  and  he  will  write  his 
life  as  ordered,  and  he  is  not  to  be 
put  to  hard  labor  f(jr  twenty-four 
hours.  By  this  means  lie  will  recov- 
er his  spirits  and  the  time  and  moral 


improvement  you  have  mndc  him 
lose..  You  hear,  sir  .'  "  added  he. 
very  sharply.  —  "I  hear,"  said 
Ilawes,  sulkiU'. 

"  Go  on  with  your  evidence,  Mr. 
Eden." 

"  Robinson,  my  man,  you  see  that 
machine  ?  "  —  "  Ugh  !  yes,  I  see 
it." 

"  For  two  months  I  liave  been  try- 
ing to  convince  Mr.  liawes  that  en- 
gine is  illegal.  I  failed  ;  but  I  have 
been  more  fortunate  with  this  gentle- 
man who  comes  from  the  Home  Of- 
fice. He  has  not  taken  as  many  min- 
utes to  see  it  is  unlawful." 

"  Stop  a  bit,  Mr.  Eden.  It  is 
clearly  illegal,  but  the  torture  is  not 
proved."  —  "  Nor  ever  will  be,"  put 
in  Mr.  Hawes. 

"  So  then,  Robinson,  no  man  on 
earth  has  the  right  to  put  you  into 
that  machine."  —  "  Hurrah  !  " 

"  It  is  therefore  as  a  favor  that  I 
ask  you  to  go  into  it  to  show  its 
operation."  —  "A  favor,  yoin-  rever- 
ence, to  you  ?  I  am  ready  in  a  min- 
ute." Robinson  was  jammed,  throt- 
tled, and  nailed  in  the  man-press. 
Mr.  Lacy  stood  in  front  of  him  and 
eyed  him  keenly  and  gravely.  "  They 
seem  very  fond  of  you,  these  fel- 
lows." 

"  Can  you  give  your  eyes  to  that 
sight  and  your  ears  to  nJe  1  "  asked 
Mr.  Eden.  —  "I  can." 

"  Then  I  introduce  to  you  a  new 
character,  —  Mr.  Fry.  Mr.  Fry  is  a 
real  character,  unlike  those  of  ro- 
mance and  melodrama,  which  are 
apt  to  be  either  a  streak  of  black 
paint,  or  else  a  streak  of  white  paint. 
Mr.  Fry  is  variegated.  He  is  a  moral 
magpie  ;  he  is,  if  possible,  as  devoid  of 
humanity  as  his  chief  ;  but,  to  balance 
this  defect,  he  possesses  all  to  himself 
a  quality,  a  very  higli  quality,  called 
Honesty." — "Well,  that  is  a  high 
(piality  and  none  too  common." 

"  He  is  or.e  of  those  men  to  whom 
veracity  is  natural.     He  would  hard- 
ly  know   how    to    tell    a    falsehood,  « 
They  fly  about  him  in  this  place  like        M 
hailstones,  but  I  never  saw  one  come        ^ 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


187 


from  him."  — "  Stay!  does  he  side 
^vith  you  or  with  Mr.  Hawes  in  this 
untbrtunate  diiference  ?  " 

"  With  mc  !  "  cried  Mr.  Hawes, 
easrerlv.  Mr.  Eden  bowed  assent. 
"  Huin  !  " 

"  This  honest  Nero  is  zealous  ac- 
cording to  his  light ;  he  has  kept  a 
strict  record  of  the  acts  and  events  of 
the  jail  for  four  years  past  ;  i.  e. 
rather  more  than  two  years  of  Cap- 
tain O'Connor's  jailership,  and  some- 
what less  than  two  years  of  the  pres- 
ent jailer.  Such  a  journal,  rigorous- 
ly kept  out  of  pure  love  of  truth  by 
such  a  man,  is  invaluable.  There  no 
facts  are  likely  to  be  suppressed  or 
colored,  since  the  record  was  never 
intended  for  any  eye  but  his  own.  I 
am  sure  Mr.  Fry  will  gratify  you  with 
a  sight  of  this  journal.  Oblige  me, 
Mr.  Fry!"  —  "Certainly,  sir!  cer- 
tainly ! "  replied  Fry,  swelling  with 
importance  and  gratified  surprise. 

"Bring  it  me  at  once,  if  you 
please."  Fry  went  with  alacrity  for 
his  journal. 

"  Mr.  Lacy,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  with 
a  slight  touch  of  reproach,  "  you  can 
read,  not  fjices  only,  but  complexions. 
You  read  in  my  yellow  face  and 
sunken  eye  —  prejudice  ;  what  do 
you  read  here  ? "  and  he  wheeled  like 
lightning  and  pointed  to  Mr.  Hawes, 
whose  fa'-e  ami  very  lips  were  then 
seen  to  be  the  color  of  ashes.  The 
poor  wretch  tried  to  recover  compos- 
ure, and  retort  defiance  ;  but  the  efifort 
came  too  late  :  his  face  had  been 
seen,  and  once  seen  that  look  of  ter- 
ror, anguish,  and  hatred  was  never  to 
be  forgotten. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Hawes  ?" 
_  "  W— W— When  I  think  of  my 
long  services,  and  the  satisfaction  I 
have  given  to  my  superiors, — and 
now  my  turnkey's  journal  to  be  taken 
and  believed  against  mine." 

Chorus  of  Justices.  "  It  is  a 
shame  !  " 

j\Ii\  Eden  (very  sharply).  "  Against 
yours  1  what  makes  him  think  it  will 
be  ngain-^t  his?  The  man  is  his  ad- 
mirer, and  an  honest  man.     What  in- 


justice has  he  to  dread  from  such  a 
source  1 " 

Mr.  Laci/.  "  I  really  cannot  under- 
stand your  objection  to  a  man's  evi- 
dence whose  bias  lies  your  way  ;  and, 
I  must  say,  it  speaks  well  for  Mr. 
Eden  that  he  has  proposed  this  man 
in  evidence." 

At  this  juncture,  the  magistrates, 
after  a  short  consultation,  informed 
Mr.  Lacy  that  they  hud  business 
of  more  importance  to  transact,  and 
could  give  no  more  time  to  Avhat  ap- 
peared to  them  an  idle  and  useless  in- 
quiry. 

"  At  all  events,  gentlemen,"  replied 
Mr.  Lacy,  "  I  trust  you  will  not  leave 
the  jail.  I  am  not  here  to  judge 
Mr.  Hawes,  but  to  see  whether  JNlr. 
Eden's  demand  for  a  formal  inquiry 
into  his  acts  ought  to  be  granted  or 
refused.  Now,  unless  the  evidence 
takes  some  new  turn,  I  incline  to  think 
I  must  ftwor  the  inquiry ;  that  is  to 
sav,  should  the  chaplain  persist  in  de- 
manding it."    —  "  Which  I  shall." 

"  Should  a  royal  commission  be  ap- 
pointed to  sit  here,  I  should  naturally 
wish  to  consult  you  as  to  the  compo- 
nent members  of  the  commission  ;  and 
it  is  my  wish  to  pay  you  the  compli- 
ment usual  in  such  cases  of  selecting 
one  of  the  three  commissioners  from 
your  body.  But  one  quesiion,  gen- 
tlemen, Kfore  you  go.  Have  you  coin- 
plied  with  No.  1  of  these  your  rules  1 
Have  you  vLsited  every  prisoner  in  his 
or  her  cell  once  a  month  ?  "  —  "  Cer- 
tainly not ! " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  Of  course 
at  each  visit  you  have  closely  exam- 
ined this  the  jailer's  book,  a  record  of 
his  acts  and  the  events  of  the  jail  ?  " 
— "  Portions  of  it  are  read  to  us ; 
this  is  a  form  which  I  believe  is  never 
omitted,  —  is  it,  Mr.  Hawes?"  — 
"  Never,    gentlemen  !  " 

"  '  Portions  ! '  and  '  a  form  ! '  whatj 
then,  are  your  acts  of  supervision  ? 
Do  you  examine  the  turnkeys,  and 
compare  their  opinions  Avith  the  jail- 
er's ?  "  —  "  We  would  not  be  guilty 
of  such  ungentlemanly  behavior  !  " 
replied  Mr.  Williams,  who  had  been 


188 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


longing  for  some  time  to  give  Mr. 
Lacy  a  slap. 

"  Do  you  examine  the  prisoners 
apart,  so  tliat  tliere  can  be  no  intimi- 
dation ot'tliem  ?  "  —  ''  We  always  take 
Mr.  Huwes  into  tlie  cells  with  us." 

"  Why  do  yuu  do  that,  pray '?  "  — 
"  We  conceive  that  nothing  would  be 
gained  by  encouraging  the  refuse  of 
mankind  to  make  frivolous  complaints 
against  their  best  friend."  Here  the 
speaker  and  his  mates  wore  a  marked 
air  of  scif-satisfacdon. 

"  Well,  sir!  has  the  present  exami- 
nation ill  no  degree  shaken  your  con- 
fidence in  Mr.  Hawes's  discretion  ?  " 
—  •'  Not  in  the  least."  ' 

"  Nor  in  your  own  mode  of  scruti- 
nizing his  acts  ?  "  —  "  Not  in  the 
least." 

"That  is  enough! — gentlemen,  I 
need  detain  you  no  longer  from  the 
business  you  have  described  as  more 
important  than  this  !  " 

Mr.  Lacy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Mr.  Eden  smiled  to  him,  and  said 
quietly :  "  As  they  were  in  the  days 
of  Shakespeare,  so  they  were  in  the 
days  of  Fielding  ;  as  they  were  in  the 
days  of  Fielding,  so  they  are  in  the 
days  of  light ;  as  .they  are  now,  so  will 
they  remain  until  they  arcswept  away 
from  the  face  of  the  soil.  (Keep  your 
eye  on  Mr.  Hawes,  edging  away  there 
so  adroitly.)  It  is  not  their  fault,  it 
is  their  nature ;  their  constitution  is 
rotten  ;  in  building  them  the  state  ig- 
nored Nature,  as  Hawes  ignores  her 
in  his  self-invented  discipline." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  — 
"  That  no  bodij  of  men  ever  gave  for 
nothing  anything  worth  anything,  nor 
ever  will.  Now  knowledge  of  law  is 
worth  something ;  zeal,  independent 
judgment,  honesty,  humanity,  dili- 
gence, are  worth  something  (are  you 
watching  Mr.  Hawes,  sir?)  ;  yet  the 
state,   greedy    goose,    hopes    to    get 


them  out  of  a  bodv  of  men  for  noth- 
ing!" 

"  Hum  !     Why  has  Mr.  Hawes  re- 
tired {  " — "  You  know  as  well  as  I  do." 


Oh!    do  I?" 


Yes 


the 


man's  terror  when  Fry's  journal  was 
proposed  in  evidence,  and  his  manner 
of  edging  away  obliquely  to  the  direc- 
tion Fry  took,  were  not  lost  on  a  man 
of  your  intelligence." 

"If you  think  that,  why  did  you 
not  stop  him  till  Fry  came  back  with 
the  book?" — "I  had  my  reasons; 
meantime  we  are  not  at  a  stand-still. 
Here  is  an  attested  copy  of  the  jour- 
nal in  question ;  and  here  is  Mr. 
Hawes's  log-book.  Fry's  book  intend- 
ed for  no  mortal  eye  but  his  own  ; 
Hawes's  concocted  for  inspection." 

"  I  see  a  number  of  projecting 
marks  pasted  into  PVy's  journal !  "  — 
"  Yes,  sir ;  on  some  of  these  marks  are 
written  the  names  of  remarkable  vic- 
tims recurring  at  intervals  ;  on  others 
are  inscribed  the  heads  of  villany, 
—  "the  black -hole,  "  "  stai-vation*" 
"thirst,"  "privation  of  exercise," 
"of  bed,"  "of  gas,"  "of  chapel,"  "of 
human  converse,"  "  inhuman  threats," 
and  the  infernal  torture  called  the 
"punishment jacket."  Somewhat  on 
the  plan  of"  Watt's  Bibliotheca  Bri- 
tannica."  So  that  you  can  at  will 
trace  any  one  of  Mr.  Hawes's  illegal 
punishments,  and  see  it  running  like 
a  river  of  blood  throujrh  many  hapless 
names  ;  or  you  can,  if  you  like  it  bet- 
ter, track  a  fellow-creature  dripping 
blood  from  punishment  to  punishment 
from  one  dark  page  to  another,  till 
release,  lunacy,  or  death  closes  the  list 
of  his  recorded  sufferings." 

Aided  by  Mr.  Eden,  who  whirled 
over  the  leaves  of  Mr.  Hawes's  log- 
book for  him,  Mr.  Lacy  compared 
several  pages  of  the  two  books.  The 
following  is  merely  a  selected  si)cci- 
men  of  the  entries  that  met  his  eye  :  — 


Mr.  Fry. 


Mr.  Hawes. 


Joram.    Writing  on  his  can  —  bread       Joram.     Refractory  —  bread    and 
and  water.  water. 

Joram.   Bread  and  water. 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   iMKND." 


1«9 


Mr.  Fry. 

Joram.   Bread  and  water. 

Joiam.  Crank  not  performed  — 
bread  and  water.  . 

Joram.    Piniislmientjaeket. 

Joram .  llcfractory  —  crank — bread 
and  watei*. 

Joram.  Attempted  suicide ;  insen- 
sible when  found  :  had  cut  olf  pieces 
of  his  hair  to  send  to  his  friends  — 
sick-list. 

Josephs.  Crank  not  performed  ; 
says  he  could  not  turn  the  crank  No. 
9;  punishment  jacket. 

Toinson.  Communicating  in  chapel 
' — dark  cell  12  hours. 

Tomson.    Bread  and  water. 

Tomson.  Crank  not  performed : 
punishment  jacket. 

Tomson.    Dark  cells. 

Tomson.    No  chapel. 

Tomson.   Dark  cells. 

Tomson.    Melancholy. 

Tomson.    Very  strange. 

Tomson.  Removed  to  lunatic  asy- 
lum. 

Tanner  (9  years  old).  Caught  up 
at  window  ;  asked  what  he  did  there  ; 
said  he  wanted  to  feel  the  light  — 
jacket  and  bread  and  water  three 
days. 

Tanner.  For  repining  —  chapel  and 
gas  stopped  until  content. 

"  Can  I  see  such  a  thing  as  a  pris- 
oner who  has  attempted  suicide  ,? /^  in- 
quired he,  with  lingering  incredulity. 
—  "  Yes  !  there  are  three  on  this  land- 
ing. Come  first  io  Joram,  of  whom 
Mr.  Hawes  writes  that  he  made  a 
sham  attempt  on  his  life  in  a  fit  of  re- 
ligious despondency  ;  Mr.  Fry,  that, 
having  been  jacketed  and  put  on 
bread  and  water  for  several  days,  he 
became  depre-^sedin  spirits,  and  made 
a  real  attempt  on  his  life.  Ah!  here 
is  Mr.  Fry,  he  is  coniinsj:  this  way  to 
tell  you  his  first  falsehood.  Hawes 
has  been  all  this  while  persuading  him 
to  it." 

"  Where  is  your  journal,  Mr.  Fry  ?  " 
— "  Well,  sir,"  replied  Fry,  hanging 
his  head,  "  I  can't  show  it  you.  I  lent 
it  to  a  friend  now  I  remember,  and  he 


Mr.  Hawes. 

Joram.   Refractory  —  crank;  bread 
and  water. 


Joram.  Refractory  —  bread  and 
water. 

Joram.  Feigned  suicide  ;  caiise,  re- 
ligious despondency  —  put  on  sick- 
list. 

Josephs.  Refractory  ;  said  he  would 
not  work  on  crank  9 ;  punishment 
jacket. 

Tomson.  Communicating  —  dark 
cells. 

Tomsoh.    Refractory  — jacket. 


Tomson    Afflicted  with  remorse  for 

past  criiiifes  —  surgeon. 

Tomson.    Removed  to  asylum. 

Tanner.     Caught   up   at   window; 
answered  insolently — jacket. 


Tanner.  Refractory  language  — 
forbidden  chapel  until  reformation. 

has  taken  it  out  of  the  jail ;  but,"  add- 
ed he,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  "  you  can 
ask  me  any  questions  you  like,  and 
I  Tl  answer  them  all  one  as  my 
book." 

"  Well,  then,  was  Joram's  attempt 
at  suicide  a  real  or  feigned  one  ?  "  — 
"  Well,  I  should  say  it  was  a  real  one. 
I  found  him  insensible,  and  he  did  not 
come  to  for  best  part  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour." 

"Open  his  cell." — "Joram,  I  am 
here  from  the  Secretary  of  State  to 
ask  you  some  questions.  Answer  them 
truly  and  without  fear.  Some  motnhs 
ago  you  made  an  attempt  (m  your 
life."*  The  prisoner  siiuddered  and 
hung  his  head. 

"Don't  be  discouraged,  Joram, "put 
in  Mr.  Eden,  kindly,  "  this  gentleman 


190 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


is  not  a  harsh  judge,  he  will  make 
allowances."  —  "  Thank  you,  gentle- 
men." 

"  What  made  you  attempt  your 
life  1  "  persisted  Mr.  Lacy.  "  VVa.s  it 
from  religious  despondency  ?  "  — 
"  That  it  wa-i  not.  What  did  I  knuw 
about  religion  before  his  reverence 
here  came  to  the  jad  ?  No,  sir,  I  was 
clammed  to  death." 

"  Clammed  ? " — "  Yes,  sir,  clammed 
and  no  mistake." 

"North  country  word'tbr  starved," 
explained  Mr.  Eden. — "No,  sir,  I  was 
starved  as  well.  It  was  very  told  weath- 
er, antl  they  gave  me  nothiuL;-  but  a  roll 
of  bread  no  bigger  than  my  fist  once  a 
day  for  best  |)art  of  a  week.  So  be- 
in^'  starved  with  cold  and  clammed 
with  hunger,  I  knew  I  could  n't  live 
many  hours  more,  and  then  the  pain 
in  my  vitals  was  so  dreadful,  sir,  I  was 
obliged  to  cut  it  short.  Ay  !  ay  ! 
your  reverence,  I  know  it  was  very 
wicked,  —  but  what  vvas  I  to  do  1  If 
I  had  n't  atteuipted  my  life  I  sliould  n't 
be  alive  now.  A  poor  fellow  does  n't 
know  what  to  do  iii  such  a  place  as 
this." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  "  I  promise 
you  your  food  t-hall  never  be  tampered 
with  again." — "  Thank  you,  sir.  Oh  I 
I  have  nothing  to  complain  of  now, 
sir ;  they  have  never  clammed  me 
since  I  attempted  my  life." 

Mr.  Edi^n.  "  Suicide  is  at  a  premi- 
um here." 

"  What  was  your  first  oflfence  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Lacv.  —  "  Writing  on  my 
can." 

"  What  did  you  write  on  the  can  ?  " 
—  "I  wrote,  '  1  want  to  sjjeak  to  the 
governor.' " 

"  Could  n't  vou  rine:  and  ask  to  see 


Ri; 


and    ask?     I    had 


run:;  half  a  dozen  times  and  asked  to 
si  e  him,  and  could  not  tret  to  see  him. 
My  hand  was  blistered  and  I  want- 
ed him,  to  a-k  him  to  put  me  on 
a  different  sort  of  work  till  such  time 
as  it  could  get  leave  to  heal." 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "  ob- 
serve the  sequence  of  iniquity.  A  re- 
fractory jailer  defies  the  discipliue  of 


the  prison.  He  breaks  Rule  37  and 
other  rules  by  which  he  is  ordered  to 
be  always  accessiltle  to  a  prisoner. 
The  ])risoner  bciii^  in  a  strait,  throui^h 
which  the  jailer  alone  can  guide  him, 
begs  for  an  interview  ;  uiiahle  to  ob- 
tain this,  ill  his  despair  he  writes  one 
innocent  line  on  his  can,  iniploring  the 
jailer  to  see  him.  None  of  the  beasts 
say,  '  What  has  he  written  ? '  tiiey 
say  only,  '  Here  be  scratches,'  and 
they  put  him  on  bread  and  water  for 
an  illegal  period  ;  and  Mr.  llawes's 
new  and  illegal  interpretation  of 
'  bread  and  water '  is  aimed  at  his 
life.  I  mean  that,  instead  of  receiving 
three  times  per  diem  a  weiglit  of  bread 
equal  to  the  weight  of  his  ordinary 
diets  (which  is  clearly  the  intention  of 
the  bread-and- water  statute),  he  has 
once  a  day  four  ounces  of  bread.  So, 
because  a  refractory  jailer  l)reaks  the 
discipline,  a  prisoner  with  whom  no 
breach  of  the  discipline  oriijinaled  is 
feloniously  put  to  death  unless  he 
'cuts  it  short'  by  that  which  in  ev- 
ery spot  of  the  earth  Init Jail  is 

a  deadly  crime  in  Heaven's  eyes, — 
self-murder."  —  "  What  an  eye  your 
reverence  ha'  got  for  things  \  Well, 
now,  it  does  n't  sound  quite  fair,  does 
it?  but  stealing  is  a  dog's  trick,  and 
if  a  man  behaves  like  a  dog  he  must 
look  to  be  treated  like  one  ;  and  lie 
will  be  too." 

"  That  is  right,  Joram  ;  you  look  at 
it  from  that  point  of  view,  and  we  will 
look  at  it  from  anotiie/." 

"  Open  Naylor's  cell.  Naylor, 
what  drove  you  to  attempt  suicide  ?" 
—  "  Oh  !  you  know,  sir." 

"  But  this  gentleman  does  not."  — 
"  Well,  gents,  they  had  been  at  me  a 
pretty  while  one  way  and  another; 
they  put  me  in  the  jacket  till  I  faint- 
ed away." 

"  Stop  a  minute  ;  is  the  jacket  very 
painful?"  —  "There  is  nothing  in 
the  world  like  if,  sir." 

"  What  is  its  elfect  ?  What  sort  of 
pain  ?  "  —  "  Why,  all  sorts  !  it  crush- 
es your  very  heart.  Then  it  makes 
you  ache  from  your  hair  to  your  heel, 
till  you  would  thank  and   bless  any 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


191 


man  to  knock  you  on  the  head.  Then 
it  takes  you  by  the  throat  and  pinches 
you  and  rasps  you  all  at  one  time. 
However,  1  don't  think  but  what  I 
coukl  have  stood  up  against  that,  if  1 
had  had  food  enough  ;  but  how  can  a 
chap  face  trouble  ami  pain  and  hard 
labor  on  a  crumb  a  day  .'  However, 
what  finally  screwed  up  my  stock- 
ing altogether,  gents,  was  their  taking 
away  my  gas.  It  was  the  dark  winter 
nights,  and  there  was  me  set  with  an 
empty  belly  and  the  cell  like  a  grave. 
So  then  I  turned  a  little  queer  in  the 
head  by  all  accounts,  and  1  saw 
things  that  —  hem  !  —  did  n't  suit  my 
complaint  at  all,  you  know." 

"  What  things  ?  "  —  "  Well,  gents, 
it  is  all  over  now,  but  it  makes  me 
shiver  still,  so  I  don't  care  to  be  re- 
minded ;  let  us  drop  it  if  it  is  all  the 
same  to  you." 

"  But,  Naylor,  for  the  sake  of  other 
poor  fellows  and  to  oblige  me."  — 
"  O  your  reverence,  if  I  can  oblige 
you,  that  alters  the  case  entirely". 
Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  must  know,  1 
saw  '  Child  of  Hell '  wrote  in  great 
letters  of  fire  all  over  that  side  of  the 
cell.  Always  every  evening  this  was 
all  my  society  as  the  saying  is,  '  Child 
of  Hell '  wrote  ten  times  brighter  than 
gas." 

"  Could  n't  you  shut  your  eyes  and 
go  to  sleep  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lacy.  —  "  How 
could  I  sleep?  and  I  did  shut  my 
eyes,  and  then  the  letters  they  came 
through  my  eyelids.  So  when  this 
fell  on  the  head  of  all  my  troubles,  I 
turned  wihl,  and  I  said  to  myself  one 
afternoon,  "Now  here  is  my  belly 
empty  and  nothing  coming  to  it,  and 
there  is  the  sun  a  setting,  and  by  and 
by  my  cell  will  be  brimful  of  bell-fire, 
—  let  me  end  mv  trouldesand  get  one 
night's  rest,  if  t  never  see  another." 
So  I  hung  myself  up  to  the  bar  by 
ny  hammock-strap,  and  that  is  all  I 
rtinember  except  finding  myself  on 
mv  back  with  Mr.  Fry  and  a  lot  round 
me,  some  coaxing  and  some  cursing  ; 
and  when  I  saw  where  I  was  I  fell  a 
crying  and  blubbering,  to  think  that  I 
had  so  nearly  broke  prison  and  there 


they  had  got  me  still,  I  dare  say  Mr. 
Fry  remembers  how  I  took  on."  — 
"  Ay,  my  man,  I  remember  we  got  no 
thanks  for  bringing  you  to."  —  "1 
was  a  poor  unconverted  sinner  then," 
replied  Mr.  Naylor,  denmrely,  "and 
didn't  know  my  fault  and  the  con.-e- 
quences  ;  but  I  thank  you  now  with 
all  my  heart,  Mr.  Fry,  sir." 

"  1  am  to  understand  then  that  you 
accuse  the  jailer  of  driving  you  to 
suicide  by  unlawful  severities  ?  "  — 
"  No,  sir,  1  don't.  I  only  tell  you  how 
it  happened,  and  you  should  n't  have 
asked  me  if  you  didn't  care  to  know; 
and,  as  for  blaming  folk,  the  man  I 
blame  the  most  is  John  Nay  lor.  His 
reverence  there  has  taught  me  to  look 
at  home.  If  I  had  n't  lobhed  honest 
folk  I  shouldn't  have  robbed  my.-elf 
of  character  and  liberty  and  health, 
and  Mr.  Hawes  would  n"t  have  robbed 
me  of  food  and  light  and  life  well- 
nigh.  Certainly  there  is  a  deal  of  ig- 
norance and  stupidity  in  this  here  jail. 
The  governor  has  no  head-piece ; 
can't  understand  that  a  prisoner  is 
made  out  of  the  same  stufi^"  as  he  is, 
—  skin  and  belly,  heart,  soul,  bones, 
an'  all.  I  should  say  he  was  n't  fit  to 
be  trusted  with  the  lives  of  a  litter  of 
pigs,  let  alone  a  couple  of  hundred 
men  and  women  ;  but  all  is  one  for 
that  ;  if  he  was  born  without  any 
gumption,  as  the  saying  is,  I  wasn't, 
and  1  did  n't  ought  to  l»e  in  a  fool's 
power;  that  is  my  fault  entirely,  not 
the  fool's  ;  ain't  it  now  '^  If  I  had  n't 
come  to  the  mill  the  miller  would 
never  have  grinded  me!  1  sticks  to 
that ! " 

"  Well  said,  Naylor.  Come,  sir, 
One  hi^iher  than  the  state  takes  prece- 
dence here ;  we  must  on  no  account 
shake  a  Christian  frame  of  mind  or 
rekindle  a  sufferer's  wrongs.  Yes, 
Naylor,  forgive  and  you  shall  be  for- 
given. I  am  f)leased  with  you,  great- 
ly pleased  with  }0u,my  poor  fellow. 
There  is  my  hand ! "  Naylor  took 
his  reverence's  hand,  and  his  very  fore- 
head reddened  with  pride  and  pleasure 
at  so  warm  a  word  of  praise  from  the 
reverend  mouih.     They  went  out  of 


1\)2 


IT   IS   KEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


the  cell.  Being  now  in  the  corridor, 
Mr.  Eden  iiddrcssed  the  government 
offi'ial  thus  :  — 

"  My  ])r()ofs  draw  to  a  clo<c.  I 
could  multiply  iusrauces  tid  infinitum, 
—  but  what  is  the  use  ?  If  the-^e  do 
not  convince  you,  you  would  not  be- 
lieve tliDUirh  one  rose  from  the  dead. 
What  do  I  sayl  Have  not  Naylor 
nnd  Jorani  and  many  others  come 
back,  from  tlie  dead  to  tell  you  by 
■what  roads  they  were  driven  there? 
One  example  remains  to  be  shown  : 
to  a  philosophical  mind  it  is  no 
stronger  tlian  the  rest ;  but  there  are 
niiiny  men  who  can  receive  no  very 
strong  impression  except  through 
their  senses.  You  may  be  one  of 
the.se  ;  ami  it  is  my  duty  to  give  your 
judgment  everv  aid.  Where  is  Mr. 
Fry  1  He  has  left  us."  —  "  I  am 
coming  to  attend  you,  sir,"  cried 
Evans,  from  above.  *'  Mr.  Fry  is 
gone    to   the   governor." 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Lacy.  — "  To  examine  a  prison- 
er whom  the  jailer  tortured  with  the 
jacket,  and  starved,  and  ended  by 
robbing  him  of  his  gas  and  his  bed 
contrary  to  law.  Evans,  since  you 
are  here,  relate  all  that  happened  to 
Edward  Josephs  on  tlie  fourtli  of  tliis 
month,  —  and  mind  you  don't  exag- 
gerate."—  "  Well,  sir,  they  had  been 
at  liim  for  near  a  month  overtasking 
liim  and  then  giving  him  the  jacket, 
and  starving  him  and  overtasking  him 
again  on  his  empty  stomach  till  the 
poor  lad  was  a  living  skeleton.  On 
th>i  fourth  the  governor  put  him  in 
t!ie  jacket,  and  there  he  was  kept  till 
]\\i  swooned."  —  "  Ah  !  "  — "  Then 
they  flung  two  buckets  of  water  over 
him,  and  that  l)rought  him  to.  Then 
they  seat  him  to  his  cell,  and  there  he 
■was  in  his  wet  clothes.  Then  him 
being  there  shaking  with  cold,  the 
governor  order.-d  his  gas  to  be  taken 
away,  —  his  hands  were  shakimr  over 
it  for  a  little  warmtli  when  they  ro!)bed 
him  of  that  bit  o'  comfort."  — 
"  Hum  !  "  —  "  Contrary  to  law  !  "  put 
in  Mr.  Eden.  —  "  Well,  sir,  he  was  a 
quiet  lad,  not  given  to  murmur,  but 


at  losing  his  gas  he  began  to  cry  out 
so  loud  you  might  hear  him  all  over 
the  prison." 

"  What  did  he  cry  1  "  —  "  Sir,  he 
cried  murdkr  !  " 

"  Go  on."  —  "  Then  I  came  to  him 
and  found  iiiin  sliivering  and  dripping, 
and  crying  ht  to  break  his  poor  heart." 

"  And  did  you  do  nothing  for 
him?"  —  "I  did  what  I  could,  sir. 
I  took  him  and  twisteil  his  bedclothes 
so  tight  round  him  the  air  could  not 
get  in,  and  before  1  left  him  his  sob.s 
went  down,  and  he  looked  like  warm 
and  sleeping  after  all  his  troul)les. 
Well,  sir,  they  can  tell  you  better  that 
did  the  job,  but  it  .-^eems  the  governor 
sent  another  turnkey,  called  Hodges, 
to  take  away  his  bed  from  under 
him."  — "Oh!"  — "  Well,  sir!  O 
dear  me!  I  hope,  your  reverence,  I 
shall  never  have  to  tell  this  stoiy 
again,  for  it  chokes  me  every  time." 
And  the  man  was  unable  to  go  on  for 
a  while.  "  Well,  sir,  the  poor  thing, 
it  seems,  did  n't  cry  out  as  he  had 
about  the  gas,  he  took  it  quite  quiet, 
—  that  might  have  let  them  know, 
but  some  folk  can  see  nothing  till  it  is 
too  late, — and  he  give  Hodges  his 
hand  to  show  he  bore  him  no  malice. 
Eh  dear  !  eh  dear  !  Would  to  Heaven 
I  had  never  seen  this  wicked  place  !  " 

"  Wicked  place,  indeed  !  "  said  Mr. 
Lacy,  solemnly.  "  You  make  me  al- 
most dread  to  ask  the  result."  — 
"  You  shall  see  the  result.     Evans  !  " 

Evans  opened  cell  15,  and  he  and 
Mr.  Eden  stood  sorrowful  aside  while 
Mr.  Lacy  entered  the  cell.  The  first 
thing  he  saw  was  a  rude  coffin  stand- 
ing uprii^ht  by  the  window,  the  next 
a  dead  body  lying  stark  upon  a  mat- 
tress on  the  floor.  The  oflieial  uttered 
a  cry  like  the  scream  of  a  woman  ! 
''  What  is  this  i  How  dare  you  bring 
me  to  such  a  place  as  this  ? "  — 
"  This  is  that  Edward  Josephs  whose 
suffeiinu^s  yon  haveheird  and  pitied." 

"  Poor  wretch  !  Heaven  I'oftrive 
us  !  What  did  '.h|s  —  did  he  —  i"  — 
"  He  took  one  step:  to  meet  inevitable 
death,  —  he  hanged  himself  that  same 
night  by  his  handkerchief  to  this  bar. 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


193 


Turn  his  poor  body,  Evans.  Sec, 
sir,  here  is  Mr.  llawes's  mark  upon 
his  back.  These  livid  stripes  are 
from  tlie  infernal  jacket,  and  helped  to 
l:i!;h  him  into  liis  j^rave.  You  are  ill. 
Here !  some  wine  from  luy  flask  ! 
You  will  f.iint  else  !  " 

"Thank  you!  Y'"es,  I  was  rather 
flint.  It  is  passed.  Mr.  Eden,  I  find 
iny  life  has  been  spent  among  words, 

—  things  of  such  terrible  significance 
are  new  to  nie.  God  forgive  us  !  how 
came  this  to  pass  in  England  in  the 
nineteenth  century  ?  The scoun- 
drel !  "  —  '•  Kick  him  out  of  the  jail, 
but  do  not  swear  ;  it  is  a  sin.  By  re- 
moving him  from  this  his  great  temp- 
tation, we '  may  save  even  his  blood- 
stained soul.  But  the  souls  of  his 
victims  ?  O  sir,  when  a  good  man  is 
hurried  to  his  grave  our  lamentations 
are  natural  but  unwise ;  but  think 
what  he  commits  who  hurries  tliieves 
and  i)urglars  and  homicides  unpre- 
pared betbre  their  eternal  Judge.  In 
this  poor  boy  lay  the  materials  of  a 
saint,  —  mild,  docile,  grateful,  believ- 
inu'.  I  was  winning  him  to  all  that  is 
good  when  I  fell  sick.  The  suffer- 
ings I  saw  and  could  not  stop,  —  they 
Tiiade  me  sick.  You  did  not  know 
that  when  you  let  my  di-colored  cheeks 
jtrejudite  you  against  my  truth.  Oh  ! 
1  forgive  you,  dear  sir !  Yes,  Heaven 
is  inscrutalde  ;  for  had  I  not  fallen  ill 

—  yes,  I  was  leading  you  up  to  Heav- 
en, was  I  not  ?  O  my  lost  sheep ! 
my  poor  lost  sheep  !  "  And  the 
faithful  shepherd,  at  the  bottom  of 
whose  wit  and  learning  lay  a  heart 
simpler  than  beats  in  any  dunce,  for- 
got Hawes  and  everything  else,  and 
Itegan  to  mourn  by  the  dead  body  of 
his  wandering  sheep. 

Then,  in  that  gloomy  abode  of 
blood  and  tears.  Heaven  wrought  a 
miracle.  One  who  for  twenty  years 
past  had  been  an  official  became  a 
man  for  full  five  minutes.  Light 
burst  on  him,  —  Nature  rushed  back 
upon  her  truant  son  and  seized  her 
long-forgotten  empire.  The  frost  and 
reserve  of  office  melted  like  snow  in 
summer  before  the  sun  of  religion  and 


humanity.  How  unreal  and  idle  ap- 
peared now  the  twenty  years  gone 
in  taj)e  and  circumlocution!  Away 
went  his  life  of  shadows,  —  his  career 
of  watery  polysyllables  meandering 
through  the  great  desert  into  the 
Dead  Sea.  He  awoke  from  his  desk 
and  saw  the  corpse  of  an  Englishman 
murdered  by  routine,  and  the  tears  of 
a  man  of  God  dripping  upon  it. 

Then  his  soul  burst  its  desk  and  his 
heart  broke  its  polysyllables  and  its 
tapen  bonds,  and  the  man  of  office 
came  quickly  to  the  man  of  God  and 
seized  his  hand  with  both  his,  which 
shook  very  much,  and  pressed  it  again 
and  again  and  again,  and  his  eyes 
glistened  and  his  voice  faltered.  "  This 
shall  never  be  again.  How  these 
tears  honor  you !  but  they  cut  me 
to  the  heart.  There  !  there  I  I  be- 
lieve every  word  you  have  told  me 
now.  Be  comforted  !  you  are  not  to 
blame !  there  were  always  villains  in 
the  world,  and  fools  like  us  tlmt  could 
not  understand  or  believe  in  an  apos' 
tie  like  you.  We  are  all  in  fault,  but 
not  you  !  Be  comforted  !  Law  and 
order  shall  be  restored  this  very  day, 
and  none  of  these  poor  creatures  siiall 
suffer  violence  again  or  wrong  of  any 
sort,  — by  God!'' 

So  these  two  grasped  hands  and 
pledged  faith,  and  for  a  while  at  least 
joined  hearts. 

Mr.  Eden  thanked  him  with  a  grace 
and  dignity  all  his  own.  Then  he 
said  with  a  winning  sweetness :  "  Go 
now,  my  dear  sir,  and  do  your  duty. 
Act  for  once  upon  an  impulse.  At 
this  moment  you  see  things  as  you 
will  see  them  when  you  come  to  die. 
A  light  from  Heaven  shines  on  your 
path  at  tliis  moment.  Walk  by  it  ere 
the  world  dims  it.  Go  and  leave  me 
to  repent  the  many  unchristian  tem- 
pers I  have  shown  you  in  one  short 
hour,  my  heat  and  bitterness  and  ar- 
rogance,—  in  this  solemn  place." 

"  His  unclnistian  temper  !  poor  soul ! 
there,  take  me  to  the  justices,  Mr. 
Evans,  and  you  follow  me  as  soon  as 
you  like.  Yes,  my  worthy  friend,  I  will 
act  upon  an  impulse  for  once  —  Ugh ! " 


194 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


Wheeling  rapidly  out  of  the  cell  as 
unlike  his  past  selt -n's  a  pin-wheel  in 
a  shop-drawer  and  ditto  ignited,  he 
met  at  the  very  door  Mr,  liawes ! 
"  You  liavc  been  witiie>.sing  a  sad 
sight,  sir,  and  one  that  nobtjdy,  I  as- 
sure you,  deplores  more  than  I  do," 
said  Mr.  Hawes,  in  a  gentle  and  feel- 
ing tone. 

Mr.  Lacy  answered  Mr.  Ilawes  by 
looking  him  all  over  from  head  to 
foot  and  back,  then  looking  sternly 
into  his  eyes  he  turned  his  back  on 
him  sharp,  and  left  him  standing  there 
without  a  word. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

The  jailer  had  been  outwitted  by 
the  priest.  Hawes  had  sneaked  after 
Fry  to  beg  him  for  Heaven's  sake 
—  that  was  the  phrase  he  used  — 
not  to  produce  his  journal.  Fry 
thought  this  very  hai-d,  and  it  took 
Hawes  ten  minutes  to  coax  him  over. 
Mr.  Eden  had  calculated  on  this,  and 
worked  with  the  attested  copy,  while 
Hawes  was  wasting  his  time  suppress- 
ing the  original.  Hawes  was  too 
cunning  to  accompany  Fry  back  to 
Mr.  Lacy ;  he  allowed  five  ininutcs 
more  to  elapse;  all  which  time  his 
anta<;onist  was  pumping  truth  into 
the  judge  a  gallon  a  stroke.  At  last 
up  came  Mr.  Ilawes  to  protect  him 
self  and  baffle  the  parson  ;  he  came, 
he  met  Mr.  Lacy  a.  t!ie  dea  1  prison- 
er's door,  and  read  hi.s  (Ufi-at. 

Mr.  Lacy  joined  the  justices  in 
their  room.  *'  I  have  one  (juestion  to 
a-k  you,  gentlemen,  before  I  go: 
How  many  attempts  at  suicid<;  were 
made  in  this  jail  under  Captain  O'Con- 
nor while  sole  jailer  ?  " — "  I  don't 
ren)ember,"  replied  Mr.  Williams. 

"  It  would  be  odd  if  you  did,  for 
no  one  such  attempt  took  place  u:uler 
him." 

"  Are  you  aware  how  many  .at- 
tempts at  suicide  took  place  during 
the  two  years  that  this  Hawes  gov- 
erned a  part  of  tl^e  jailj  being  kept  in 


some  little  check  by  O'Connor,  but 
not  much,  as  unfortunately  you  en- 
courajicd  the  inferior  othcer  to  defy 
his  superior  ?  Five  attempts  at  sui- 
cide during  this  period,  yentlenjen. 
And  now,  do  you  know  how  many 
such  attempts  have  occurred  since  Mr. 
llawL'S  has  been  sole  jailer?" — 'I 
really  don't  know.  Prisoners  are  al- 
ways shamming,"  replied  Mr.  Wood- 
cock. 

"  I  do  not  allude  to  feigned  at- 
tempts, of  which  there  have  been  sev- 
eral, but  to  desperate  attempts  ;  some 
of  which  have  left  the  prisoner  insen- 
sible, some  have  resulted  in  his  death, 
—  how  many  of  these  ?  "  — r  "  Four  or 
five,  I  believe." 

"  Ah,  you  have  not  thouLjht  it 
worth  while  to  inquire  !  !  Hum  !  — 
well,  fourteen  at  least.  Come  in,  Mr. 
Eden.  Gentlemen,  you  have  neglect- 
ed your  duty.  Making  every  allow- 
ance for  your  inexperience,  it  still  is 
clear  that  you  have  undertaken  the 
supervision  of  a  jail,  and  yet  have  ex- 
ercised no  actual  supervision  ;  even 
now  the  life  or  death  of  the  prisoners 
seems  to  you  a  matter  of  indifference. 
If  you  are  reckless  on  such  a  point  as 
thi'^,  what  chance  have  the  minor  cir- 
cumstances of  their  welfare  of  being 
watched  by  you  1  and,  frankly,  I  am 
puzzled  to  conceive  what  you  pro- 
posed to  yourselves  when  you  utider- 
took  an  offi  -e  so  important,  and  re- 
quiring so  great  vigilance.  I  say  this, 
gentlemen,  merely  to  explain  why  I 
cannot  have  the  ])leasure  1  did  prom- 
ise  myself  of  puttiuLT  one  of  your 
names  into  the  royal  commission 
which  Avill  sit  upon  this  prison  in 
compliance  Aviih  the  chaplain's  peti- 
tion." 

Mr.  Eden  bowed  gratefully,  and, 
his  point  being  formally  gained,  he 
hurried  away  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,  and  visit  his  longing  prisoners. 
While  he  passed  like  sunshine  from 
cell  to  cell,  ^Ir.  Lacy  took  a  note  or 
two  in  solemn  silence,  and  the  injus- 
tices conferred.  Mr.  Palmer  whis- 
pered :  "  We  had  better  have  taken 
Mr.  Eden's  advice."    The  other  two 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE 


snorter!  ill-assured  defiance.  Mr.  La- 
cy looked  up.  "  You  will  hold  your- 
selves in  readiness  to  be  examined 
before  the  commission." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Hawcs  walked 
into  the  room  without  his  mask,  and 
in  his  own  brutal  voice  —  tlie  voice 
he  spoke  to  prisoners  with  —  ad- 
dressed himself  with  great  insolence 
of  manner  to  Mr.  Lacy.  "  Don't 
troulde  yourself  to  hold  commissions 
over  me.  I  think  myself  Avorth  a 
great  deal  more  to  the  government 
than  they  have  ever  been  to  me. 
Whut  they  give  me  is  little  enough 
for  what  I  iiave  given  them,  and,  when 
insults  are  added  to  a  man  of  honor 
and  an  old  servant  of  the  Queen,  he 
flings  his  commission  in  your  face  "  ; 
and  the  unveiled  ruffian  raised  his 
voice  to  a  roar,  and  with  his  hand 
flung  an  imaginary  commission  into 
Mr.  Lacy's  face,  who  drew  back  as- 
tounded ;  then,  resuming  his  honeyed 
manner,  Hawes  turned  to  the  justices. 
"  I  return  into  your  hands,  gentlemen, 
the  office  I  received  from  you.  I 
thank  you  for  the  support  you  have 
afibrded  me  in  my  endeavors  to  sub- 
stitute discipline  for  the  miserable 
laxity  and  slovenliness  and  dirt  we 
found  here  ;  and  your  good  opinion 
will  always  console  me  for  the  insults 
I  have  received  from  a  crack-brained 
parson  and  his  tools  in  the  jail  and 
out  of  it." 

"  Your  resignation  is  accepted," 
said  Mr.  Lacy,  coldly;  "and,  as  your 
connection  ^vith  — » —  Jail  is  now  end- 
ed, in  virtue  of  my  powers  from  tlie 
Secretary  of  State,  which  I  here  pro- 
duce, I  give  you  the  use  of  the  jailer's 
house  for  a  week  that  you  may  have 
time  to  move  your  effects,  but  for 
m;iny  reasons  it  is  advisable  that  you 
should  not  remain  in  the  jail  a  single 
hour.  Be  so  good,  therefore,  as  to 
quit  the  jail  as  soon  as  you  conven- 
icritly  can.  One  of  the  turnkeys  shnll 
assist  you  to  convey  to  your  house 
whatever  you  have  in  this  building." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  take  out  of  the 
jail,  man,"  replied  Hawes,  rudely, 
"  except '  —  and  here  he  did  a  bit  of 


\' 


^END. 


195 


% 


pathos  and  dignity  —  "  my  zeal  for  her 
Majesty's  service,  aud  inv  integrity. " 

"All,"  replied  Mr.  LA.-v,  quicUy, 
"  vou  won't  want  uuv  liLlp  tu  curr\' 
them." 

Mr.  Hawes  left  the  room,  bowing  to 
the  justices  and  ostentatiously  ignor- 
ing the  government  official.  Mr. 
Williams  shouted  iifter  him.  "  He 
carries  our  respect  wherever  he  goes," 
said  this  magistrate,  with  a  fidelity 
worthy  a  better  cause.  The  other 
two  hung  their  heads  and  did  not 
echo  their  chief.  The  tide  was  turned 
against  JaUer  Hawes,  and  these  two 
were  not  the  articles  to  swim  against 
a  stream,  even  though  that  stream  was 
truth. 

Mr.  Hawes  took  his  time.  He 
shook  hands  with  Fry,  who  bade  him 
farewell  with  regret.  Who  is  there 
that  somebody  does  not  contrive  to 
like  1  And,  rejecting  even  this  mas- 
tiff's company,  he  made  a  gloomy, 
solitary  progress  through  the  prison 
for  the  last  time.  "  How  clean  and 
beautiful  it  all  is  ;  it  was  n't  like  that 
when  I  came  to  it,  and  it  never  will 
again."  Some  gleams  of  remorse 
began  to  flit  about  that  thick  skull 
and  self-deceiving  heart,  for  punish- 
ment suggests  remorse  to  sordid  na- 
tures. But  his  strong  and  abiding 
feeling  was  a  sincere  and  profound 
sense  of  ill-usage  —  long  service  — 
couldn't  overlook  a  single  error  — 
ungrateful  government,  etc.  "  Prison 
go  to  the  Devil  now,  —  and  serve  them 
right."  At  last  he  drew  near  the 
outer  court,  and  there  he  met  a  sight 
that  raised  all  the  fiend  within  him. 
There  was  Mr.  Eden  ushering  Strutt 
into  the  garden,  and  telling  Evans 
the  old  man  was  to  pass  his  whole 
days  there  till  he  was  better.  "  So 
that  is  the  way  you  keep  the  rules, 
now  you  have  undermined  me  !  No 
cell  at  all.  I  thought  what  you  would 
come  to.  You  have  n't  been  long 
getting  there." 

"  Mr.  Hawes,"  replied  the  other, 
with  perfect  good  temper,  "  Rule  34 
of  this  prison  enjoins  that  every  pris- 
oner shall  take  daily  as  much  exercise 


196 


"IT  IS  KEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


in  the  open  air  as  is  necessary  for  his 
health.  You  have  viohited  this  rule 
so  lon^  that  now  JStrutt's  health  re- 
quires him  to  juiss  niany  more  hours 
in  the  air  than  he  otherwise  would  ; 
he  is  dyin;^'  for  air  and  amusement, 
and  he  sliall  have  both  sooner  than  die 
for  the  want  of  them,  or  of  anything 
I  can  give  him." 

"  And  what  is  it  to  him  ?  "  retorted 
Evans,  witli  rude  triumph  ;  "  he  is  no 
lon<rer  an  othcer  of  this  jail ;  he  has 
got  the  sack  and  orders  to  quit  into 
the  bargain." 

Fear  is  entertained  that  .Mr.  Evans 
had  listened  more  or  less  at  the  door 
of  the  justices'  room. 

"  Is  this  so,  sir  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Eden, 
gravely,  politely,  and  without  a  shadow 
of  visible  exultation. 

"  You  know  it  is,  you  sneaking,  un- 
dermining villain ;  you  have  weath- 
ered on  me,  you  have  out-manajuvred 
me.  When  was  an  honest  soldier  a 
match  for  a  parson  ^  " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Mr.  Eden  :  "  then  run 
to  the  gate,  Evans,  and  let  the  men 
into  the  jail  with  the  printing-press 
and  the  looms.  They  have  been  wait- 
ing four  hours  for  this." 

Hawes  turned  black  with  rage. 
"  O,  I  know  you  made  sure  of  win- 
ning :  a  blackguard  that  loads  the 
dice  can  always  do  that.  Your  tri- 
umph won't  be  long.  I  was  in  this 
jail  honored  and  respected  for  four 
years  till  you  came.  You  won't  be 
four  months  before  you  are  kicked  out, 
and  no  one  to  say  a  good  word  for  you. 
A  pretty  Christian  !  to  suborn  my  own 
servants  and  rob  me  of  my  place  and 
make  me  a  beggar  in  my  old  age,  a 
man  you  are  not  worthy  to  serve  un- 
der, a  man  that  served  his  country  by 
sea  and  land  before  you  were  whelped, 
ye  black  hypocrite.  You  a  Christian  ! 
you  1  If  1  .thought  that,  I  'd  turn 
Atheist  or  anything,  you  poor  bark- 
biting —  tale-telling  —  sneaking —  un- 
dermining —  false-witness  bearing  — " 

"  Unh.ippy  man,"  cried  Mr.  Eden  ; 
"  turn  those  perverse  eyes  from  the 
faults  of  others  to  your  own  danger. 
The  temptations  under  which  you  fell 


end  here ;  then  let  their  veil  fall  from 
your  eyes,  and  you  may  yet  bless 
those  who  came  between  your  soul 
and  its  everlasting  ruin.  Your  vic- 
tims are  dead;  their  eternal  fate  is 
fixed  by  you.  Heaven  is  more  mer- 
ciful, —  it  has  not  struck  you  dead  by 
your  victim's  side;  it  gives  you,  the 
greatest  sinner  of  all,  a  chance  to  es- 
cape. Seize  that  chance.  Was.te  no 
time  in  passion  and  petuhmce,  — 
think  only  of  your  forfeited  soul. 
-Madman,  to  your  knees  !  What ! 
dare  you  die  as  you  have  lived  these 
three  years  past  ?  dare  you  die  ab- 
horred of  Heaven  ?  Fool !  see  your- 
self as  every  eye  on  earth  and  in  Heav- 
en sees  you.  The  land  contains  no 
criminal  so  blaek  as  you.  Other 
homicides  have  struck  hastily  on  prov- 
ocation or  stung  by  injury,  or  thrust 
or  drawn  by  some  great  passion ; 
but  you  have  deliberately  gnawed 
away  men's  lives.  Others  have  seen 
their  one  victim  die,  but  you  have 
looked  on  your  many  victims  dying, 
yet  not  spared  them.  Other  homi- 
cides' hands  are  stained,  but  yours 
are  steeped  in  blood.  To  your  knees, 
MAN-slayer  !  I  dare  not  promise  you 
that  a  life  given  to  penitence  and 
charity  will  save  so  foul  a  soul,  but  it 
may,  for  Heaven's  mercy  is  infinite. 
Seize  on  that  small  chance.  Seize 
it  like  one  who  feels  Sata"h  clutching 
him  and  dragging  him  down  to  eter- 
nal flames.  Life  is  short,  eternity  is 
close,  judgment  is  sure.  A  few  short 
years  and  you  must  in£et  Edward 
Josephs  again  before  the  eternal  Judge. 
What  a  tribunal  to  face,  your  victims 
opposite  you  !  There  the  long-stand- 
ing prejudices  that  save  you  from  a 
felon's  death  here  will  avail  you  noth- 
ing. There  the  quibbles  that  pass 
current  on  earth  will  be  blasted  with 
the  lips  that  dare  to  utter  and  the 
hearts  that  coin  them.  Before  Him, 
who  has  neither  body  nor  parts,  yet 
weated  all  the  forms  of  matter,  vainly 
will  you  pretend  that  you  did  not  slay 
because  forsooth  the  weapons  with  ^ 
which  you  struck  at  life  were  invisible  || 
and  not  to  be  comprehended  by  a  vul- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


197 


gar,  shallow,  sensual,  earthly  judge. 
There  too  tlie  imperfection  of  liuman 
language  will  yield  no  leaf  of  shelter. 

"  Hope  not  to  shift  the  weight  of 
guilt  upon  poor  Josephs  tliere.  On 
earth  muddle-heads  will  call  his  death 
and  the  self-murderer's  by  one  name 
of  '  feuieidc,'  and  so  dream  the  two 
acts  were  one  ;  but  you  cannot  gull 
Omniscience  with  a  word,  —  the  wise 
■  man's  counter  and  the  money  of  a 
fool.  •  Be  not  deceived  !  As  Rosamond 
took  poison  in  her  hand,  and  drank 
'it  with  her  own  lips,  and  died  by  her 
own  act,  yet  died  assassinated  by  her 
rival,  —  so  died  Josephs.  As  men 
taken  by  pirates  at  sea,  and  pricked 
with  cold  steel,  till  in  despair  and 
pain  they  fling  themselves  into  the 
sea,  — so  died  Josephs,  and  his  fel- 
lows murdered  by  you.  Be  not  de- 
ceived !  I,  a  minister  of  the  Gospel 
of  mercy,  I,  whose  character  leans 
towards  charity,  tell  you  that  if  you 
die  im])enitent,  so  surely  as  the  sun 
shines  and  the  Bible  is  true,  the  mur- 
der of  Edward  Josephs  and  his  broth- 
ers will  damn  your  soul  to  the  flames 
of  hell  forever  —  and  forever  —  and 
forever ! 

"  Begone,  then,  poor,  miserable 
creature  !  Do  not  look  behind  you. 
Fly  from  this  scene  where  crime  and 
its  delusions  still  cling  round  your 
brain  and  your  self-deceiving  heart. 
Waste  no  more  time  with  me  ;  a  min- 
ute lost  may  be  a  soul  lost.  The 
avenger  of  blood  is  behind  you.  Run 
quickly  to  your  own  home,  —  go  up 
to  your  secret  chamber,  —  and  there 
fall  down  upon  your  knees  before 
your  God,  and  cry  loud  and  long  to 
him  (or  pardon.  Cry  mightily  for 
help,  —  cry  humbly  and  groaning  for 
the  power  to  repent.  Away  !  away  ! 
Wa>h  those  red  hands  and  that  black 
soul  in  years  and  years  of  charity,  in 
tears  and  tears  of  penitence,  and  in 
our  Redeemer's  blood.  Begone,  and 
darken  and  trouble  us  here  no  more." 

The  cowed  jailer  shrank  and  cow- 
ered before  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning of  the  priest,  who,  mild  by  na- 
ture, was  awful  when  he  rebuked  an 


impenitent  sinner  out  of  holy  writ. 
He  slunk  away,  his  knees  trembling 
under  him,  and  the  first  fiery  seeds 
of  remorse  sown  in  his  dry  heart. 
He  met  the  printing-press  coining  in, 
and  the  loom  following  it  (naturally)  ; 
he  scowled  at  them  and  groaned. 
Evans  held  the  door  open  for  him  with 
a  look  of  joy  that  stirred  all  his  bile 
again.  He  turned  on  the  very  thresh- 
old, and  spat  a  volley  of  oaths  upon 
Evans.  Evans  at  this  put  down  his 
head  like  a  bull,  and,  ruijning  fiercely 
with  the  huge  door,  slammed  it  closo 
on  his  heel  with  such  ferocity  that 
the  report  rang  like  a  thunder-clap 
through  the  entire  building,  and  the 
ex-jailer  was  in  the  street. 

Five  minutes  more,  the  printing- 
press  and  loom  were  re-installed,  and 
the  punishment  jacket  packed  up  and 
sent  to  London  to  the  Home  Office. 
Ten  minutes  more,  the  cranks  were 
examined  by  the  artist  in  iron  Mr. 
Eden  had  sent  for,  and  all  condemned, 
it  being  proved  that  the  value  of  their 
resistance  stated  on  their  lying  faces 
was  scarce  one  third  of  their  actual 
resistance.  So  much  for  unerring  * 
science  ! 

Five  minutes  more,  Mr.  Eden  had 
placed  in  Mr.  Lacy's  hands  a  list  of 
prisoners  to  whom  a  free  pardon 
ought  now  to  be  extended,  some  hav- 
ing suffered  a  somewhat  shorter  period 
but  a  greater  weight  of  misery  than 
the  judges  had  contemplated  in  their 
several  sentences  ;  and  others  being  so 
shaken  and  depressed  by  separate  con- 

*  The  effect  of  this  little  bit  of  science 
may  be  thus  stated  :  Men  for  two  years  had 
been  punished  as  refractory  for  not  making 
all  day  two  thousand  revolutions  per  hour 
of  a  15-lb.  crank,  when  all  the  while  it 
was  a  45-/6.  cravk  they  had  been  vainly 
strujrgiing  against  all  day.  The  proportions 
of  this  gory  lie  never  varied.  Each  crank 
tasked  the  Sisyphus  three  times  what  it  pro- 
fessed to  do.  It  was  calculated  that  four 
prisoners,  on  an  average  crank  marked  101b., 
had  to  exert  an  aggregate  of  force  equal  to 
one  horse  ;  and  this  exertion  was  prolonged, 
day  after  day,  far  beyond  a  horse's  power  of 
endurance,  and  in  many  cases  on  a  modi- 
cum of  food  so  scanty  that  no  horse  ever 
foaled,  so  fed,  could  have  drawn  an  arm-chair 
a  mile. 


198 


"  IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


fincment  pushed  to  excess,  that  their 
life  and  reason  now  stood  in  peril  for 
want  of  open  air,  abunihint  lijrlit,  and 
free  intercourse  with  thtir  sj)ecies. 
At  the  head  of  these  was  poor  Strutt, 
an  old  man  crushed  to  clay  by  separate 
confinement  recklessly  applied.  So 
alarmint;  was  this  man's  torpor  to 
Mr.  Eden,  that,  after  trying  in  vain  to 
interest  him  in  the  garden,  that  ob- 
server ventured  on  a  very  strong  meas- 
ure. He  had  learned  from  Strutt  that 
he  could  play  the  fiddle  ;  what  does  he 
do  but  runs  and  fetches  his  own  vio- 
lin into  the  garden,  tunes  it,  and  plays 
some  most  inspiriting,  rollicking  old 
English  tunes  to  him  !  A  spark  came 
into  the  fishy  eye  of  Strutt.  At  the 
third  tune  the  old  fellow's  fingers  be- 
gan to  work  impatiently.  Mr.  Eden 
broke  off  directly,  put  fiddle  and  bow 
into  Strutt's  hand,  and  ran  off  to  the 
prison  again  to  arrest  melancholy,  de- 
spair, lunacy,  stagnation,  mortifica- 
tion, putrefaction,  by  every  art  that 
philosophy  and  mother-wit  could  sug- 
gest to  Christianity. 

This  determined  man  had  collected 
his  teaching  meclianics  again,  and  he 
had  them  all  into  the  prison  the  mo- 
ment Hawes  was  out.  He  could  not 
get  the  cranks  condemned  as  mon- 
sters, —  the  day  was  not  yet  come  ior 
that ;  so  he  got  them  condemned  as 
liars,  and  in  their  place  tasks  of  rational 
and  productive  .labor  were  set  to  most 
of  the  prisoners,  and  London  written 
to  for  six  more  trades  and  arts- 

A  copy  of  the  prison-rules  was  cut 
into  eight  portions,  and  eight  female 
prisoners  set  to  compose  each  her 
portion.  Copies  to  be  printed  on  the 
morrow,  and  put  up  in  every  cell,  ac- 
cordinij  to  the  wise  provision  of  Rule 
10,  defied  by  the  late  jailer  for  an  ob- 
vious reason.  Thus  in  an  hour  after 
the  body  of  Hawes  had  pissed  through 
that  gate,  a  firm  and  adroit  hand  was 
wiping  his  gloomy  soul  out  of  the 
cells  as  we  wipe  a  blotch  of  ink  off  a 
Avrittcn  pa<j:e. 

Care  too  was  taken  every  prisoner 
should  know  the  late  jailer  was  gone 
forever.     This  was  done  to  give  the 


wretches  a  happy  night.  Fjaculationg 
of  thanksgiving  burst  from  the  cells 
every  now  and  then ;  by  some  myste- 
rious means  tlie  immured  seemed  to 
share  the  joyful  tidings  with  their  fel- 
lows, and  one  pulse  of  hope  and  tri- 
umph to  beat  anil  thrill  through  all 
the  life  that  wasted  and  witherecl  there 
encased  in  stone;  and  until  sunset  the 
faint  notes  of  a  fiddle  struggled  from 
the  garden  into  the  tcmjde  of  silence 
and  gloom,  and  astounded  every  ear. 
The  merry  tunes  as  Strutt  played 
them  sounded  like  dirges,  but  they 
enlivened  him  as  they  siyhed  forth. 
They  stirred  his  senses,  and  through 
his  senses  his  mind,  and  through  his 
mind  his  body,  and  so  the  anthropol- 
ogist made  a  fiddle  help  save  a  life, 
Avhich  fact  no  mortal  man  will  be- 
lieve whose  habit  it  is  to  chatter 
blindfold  about  man  and  investigate 
the  "  crustaceonidunculffi." 

The  cranks  being  condemned,  ra- 
tional industry  restored,  and  the  law 
reseated  on  the  throne  a  manslaugh- 
tering  dunce  had  usurped,  the  cham- 
pion of  human  nature  went  home  to 
drink  his  tea  and  write  the  plot  of  his 
sermon. 

He  had  won  a  great  battle  and  felt 

his  victory.     He  showed  it  too  in  his 

own  way.     On   the  evening  of  this 

[  great  day  his  voice  was  remarkably 

i  getjtle  and  winning,  and^  a  celestial 

I  light  seemed  to  dwell  in  his  eyes ;  no 

word  of  exultation,  nor  even  of  self- 

I  congratulation  ;    and   he    made     no 

j  direct  mention  of  the  prison  all  the 

I  evening.     Hi^  talk  was  about  Susan's 

j  afll^airs,  and  he  paid  his  warm  thanks 

to  her  and  her  aunt  for  all  they  had 

'  done  for  him.     "  You  have  been  true 

friends,  true  allies,"  said  he  ;  "  what 

do  I  not  owe  you  !  you  have  supported 

me  in  a  bitter  struggle,  and,  now  that 

the  dav  is  won,  I  can  find  no  words  to 

thank  you  as  I  ought." 

Both  these  honest  women  colored 
and  glistened  with  pleasure,  but  they 
were  too  modest  to  be  ready  with 
praise  or  to  bandy  compliments. 

"As  for  you,  Susai,  it  was  a  master- 
stroke your  veuturiug  into  my  den." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


199 


*'  Oh  !  we  tura  bold  when  a  body  is 

ni,  don't  we,  aunt  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  shy  for  one  at  the  best 
pf  times,"  remarked  tlie  hitter. 

"  Under  Heaven  you  saved  niy  life, 
{It  least  I  think  so,  Susan,  for  the 
medieinal  power  of  soothing  intluenees 
is  immense,  I  am  sure  it  is  apt  to  be 
underrated  ;  and  then  it  was  you  who 
flew  to  Malvern  and  dragged  Gulson 
to  me  at  the  crisis  of  my  fate  ;  dear 
little  true-hearted  friend,  1  am  sorry  to 
think  1  can  never  repay  you." 

**  You  forget,  Mr.  Eden,"  said  Su- 
san, almost  in  a  whisper,  "  I  was  paid 
#    beforehand." 

1  wish  I  could  convey  the  native 
grace  and  gentle  dignity  of  gratitude 
with  which  the  farmer's  daughter  mur- 
mured these  four  words,  like  a  duch- 
ess acknowledging  a  kindness. 

"  Eh  1  "  inquired  Mr.  Eden,  "  oh  ! 
ah  !  I  forgot,"  said  he,  naively.  "  No  ! 
that  is  nonsense,  Susan :  you  have 
still  an  immense  Cr.  against  my 
name  ;  but  I  know  a  way  —  Mrs. 
Davies,  for  as  simple  as  I  sit  here, 
you  see  in  me  the  ecclesiastic  that 
shall  unite  this  young  lady  to  an  hon- 
est man,  who,  report  says,  loves  her 
very  dearly  ;  so  I  mean  to  square  our 
littie  account." 

"  That  is  fair,  Susan ;  what  do  vou 
say  ?  " 

"  La,  a:int !  why,  I  should  n't  look 
upon  it  as  a  marriage  at  all  if  any 
clergyman  but  Mr.  Eden  said  the 
word's.i' 

"  That  is  right,"  laughed  Mr. 
Eden,  "  always  set  some  little  man 
above  some  great  thing,  and  thon  you 
will  always  be  —  a  woman.  I  must 
write  t!ie  plot  of  my  sermon,  ladies, 
but  you  can  talk  to  me  all  the  same." 

He  wrote  and  purred  every  now  and 
then  to  the  women,  who  purred  to 
each  other  and  now  and  then  to  him. 
Keithcr  Hawes  nor  any  other  irritation 
rankled  in  his  heart,  or  even  stuck 
fast  in  his  memory.  He  had  two 
sermons  to  prepare  for  Sunday  ne.xt, 
and  he  threw  his  mind  into  them  as 
he  had  into  the  battle  he  had  just 
won.     "  Hoc  agebat." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

His  reverence  in  the  late  battle 
showed  himself  a  strategist,  and  won 
without  bringiuiT  up  his  reserves  ;  if  he 
had  failed  wiih  Mr.  Lacy,  he  had  anoth- 
er arrow  behind  in  his  ([uiver.  He  had 
been  twice  to  the  mayor  and  claimed 
a  coroner's  jury  to  sit  on  a  suicide  ; 
the  mayor  had  consented,  and  the  pre- 
liminary steps  had  been  taken. 

The  morning  after  the  jailer's  dis- 
missal, the  inquest  was  held.  Mr. 
Eden,  Evans,  Fry,  and  others  were 
examined,  and  the  case  came  out  as 
clear  as  the  day  and  black  as  the  night. 

When  twelve  honest  P^nglishmen, 
men  of  plain  sense,  not  men  of  sys- 
tem, men  taken  from  the  public,  not 
from  public  otFices,  sat  in  a  circle  with 
the  corpse  of  a  countryman  at  their 
knees,  Jieiat  lux;  't  was  as  though 
twelve  suns  had  burst  into  a  dust-hole. 

"  Manslaughter  !  "  cried  they  ;  and 
they  sent  their  spokestnan  to  the  may- 
or, and  said  yet  more  light  must  be 
let  into  this  dust-hole,  and  the  mayor 
said  :  "  Ay,  and  it  shall  too.  I  will 
write  to  London  and  demand  more 
light."  And  the  men  of  the  public 
went  to  their  own  homes  and  told 
their  wives  and  childien  and  neigh> 
bors  what  cruelties  and  villanies  t!iey 
had  unearthed,  and  their  hearers,  be. 
ing  men  and  women  of  that  people, 
which  is  a  God  in  intellect  and  in 
heart,  compared  with  the  criticasters 
that  try  to  misguide  it  with  their  shal- 
low guesses  and  cant,  and  with  the 
clerks  that  execute  it  in  other  men's 
names,  cried  out,  "  See  now  !  What 
is  the  use  our  building  courts  of  law 
or  prisons  unless  they  are  to  be  open 
unto  us.  Shut  us  out,  —  keep  walls 
and  closed  gate  between  us  and  our 
servants,  —  and  what  comes  of  our 
courts  of  law  and  our  prisons  ?  Why, 
they  turn  nests  of  villany  in  less  than 
no  time." 

The  twelve  honest  Englishmen  had 
hardly  left  the  jail  an  hour,  cry- 
ing "  manslaughter  !  "  and  crying 
"shame!"  when  all  in  a  moment 
"  Tomb  !  "  fell  a  single  heavy  stroke 


200 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


of  the  great  prison  bell.  The  heart 
of  the  jirison  leaped,  and  then  grew 
cold,  —  a  long,  chill  pause,  then 
•'  Tomb  !  "  again.  The  jurymen 
had  told  most  of  his  fellow-sufferers 
how  Josephs  was  driven  into  his 
grave,  —  and  now  — 

"  Tomb  !  "  the  remorseless  iron 
tongue  crashed  out  one  by  one  the 
last  s;id,  stern  monosyllahles  of  this 
sorrowfnllest  of  human  tales. 

They  i)ut  liim  in  his  coffin 
("Tomb!")  a  boy  of  sixteen,  Avho 
Avould  Ixi  alive  now  but  that  caitiffs, 
whom  God  confound  on  earth,  made 
life  an  impossihi/itij  to  him,  ( "  Tomb  !  ") 
and  that  Shallows  and  Woodcocks, 
whom  God  confound  on  earth,  and 
unconscientious,  non-inspecting  in- 
spectors, flunkies,  humbugs,  hire- 
lings, whom  God  confound  on  earth, 
("Tomb!")  left  these  scoundrels 
month  after  month,  and  year  after 
year,  unwatched,  though  largely 
paid  by  the  Queen  and  the  people 
to  watch  them.  {"  Tomb!  ")  Look 
on  your  work,  hirelings,  and  listen 
to  that  bell,  which  would  not  be 
tolling  now  if  you  had  been  men 
of  brains  and  scruples,  instead  of  sor- 
did hirelings.  The  priest  was  on  his 
knees,  praying  for  help  from  heaven 
to  go  through  the  last  sad  office  with 
composure,  for  he  feared  his  own 
heart  when  he  should  come  to  say 
"  ashes  to  ashes  "  and  "dust  to  dust  " 
over  this  hapless  boy  that  ought  to  be 
in  life  still.  And  still  the  great  bell 
tolled,  and  many  of  the  prisoners 
were  invited  kindly  in  a  whisper  to 
come  into  the  chapel ;  but  Fry  could 
not  be  spared,  and  Hodges  fiercelfy 
refu-ed.  And  now  the  bell  stopped, 
and  as  it  stopped  the  voice  of  the 
priest  arose,  "  I  am  the  resurrection 
and  the  life." 

A  deep  and  sad  gloom  was  upon  nil 
as  the  last  sad  offices  were  done  for 
this  poor  young  ere  >ture  cut  short  by 
foul  play  in  the  midst  of  them.  And 
for  ail  he  could  do  the  priest's  voice 
trembled  often,  and  a  heavy  sigh  min- 
gled more  than  once  with  the  holy 
words. 


What  is  that?  "  this  our  nnorii- 
ER  !  "  —  a  thief  our  brother  ?  —  ay  ! 
the  priest  made  no  mist:ike,  tliose 
were  the  words  ;  pause  on  them. 

Two  great  characters  contradicted 
each  other  to  the  face  ovei"  dead  Jo- 
sephs. Unholy  State  said,  '"  Here  is 
the  carcass  of  a  thief  whom  I  and  so- 
ciety honestly  believe  to  be  of  no  more 
importance  than  a  dog,  —  so  it  has 
unfoitunately  got  killed  between  us 
no  matter  how;  take  this  carcass  and 
luiry  it,"  said  unholy  State.  Holy 
Church  took  the  poor  ab\ised  remains 
with  reverence,  jtrayed  over  them  as 
she  prays  over  the  just,  and  laid  them 
in  the  earth,  calling  them  '"  this  our 
Itrotlicr."  Judge  now  which  is  ail  in 
the  wrong,  unholy  State  or  holy 
Churcli,  for  both  cannot  be  right. 

Now  wliile  tiie  grave  is  being  filled 
in,  judge,  women  of  f>ngland  and 
America,  between  these  two,  —  unho- 
ly State  and  holy  Church.  The  earth 
contains  no  better  juilges  of  this 
doubt  than  you.  Judge,  and  I  will 
bow  to  your  verdict  with  a  reverence 
I  know  male  cliques  too  well  to  feel 
for  them  in  a  case  where  the  great 
capacious  heart  alone  can  enlighten, 
the  clever  little  narrow  shallow  brain. 

Thus  in  the  nineteenth  century, — 
in  a  kind-hearted  nation,  —  under  the 
most  humane  sovereign  the  world  has 
ever  witnessed  on  an  eartlrly  throne,  — 
holy  Church  in  vain  denouncing  the 
miserable  sinners  that  slay  the  thief, 
their  brother,  —  Edward  Jose]»hs  has 
been  done  to  death  in  the  Queen's 
name,  —  in  the  name  of  England, — 
and  in  the  name  of  the  law. 

But  each  of  these  great  insulted 
names  has  its  sworn  defenders,  its 
honored  and  paid  defenders. 

It  is  not  for  us  to  su])pose  that  men 
so  hi<:h  in  honor  will  lay  aside  them- 
selves and  turn  curs. 

Ere  I  close  this  long  story,  let  us 
hope  I  shall  he  able  to  relate  with  what 
z'?al  and  honor  statesmen  disowned 
and  punishi'd  wlude^ale  7nan<laughter 
done  ill  the  name  of  the  state  ;  and 
with  what  zeal  and  horror  judges 
disowned     and    punished    wholesale 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


2di 


manslanqrhter  done  in  their  name  ;  and 
so,  in  all  good  men's  eyes,  washed  off 
the  l)lood  with  whieh  a  hireling  had 
bespattered  the  state  ermine  and  the 
stiow-white  robe  of  law. 

For  the  present,  the  account  be- 
tween Josephs  and  the  law  stands 
thus :  Josephs  has  committed  the 
smallest  theft  imaginable.  He  has 
stolen  food.  For  this  tlie  law,  profess- 
ing to  punish  him  with  certain  months' 
imprisonment,  has  inflicted  capital 
puiii-hment ;  has  overtasked,  crucified, 
starved,  —  overtasked,  starved,  cruci- 
fied, —  robbed  him  of  light,  of  sleep, 
of  liope,  of  life  ;  has  destroyed  his 
body,  and  perhaps  his  soul.  Sura  to- 
tal, —  1st  page  of  account,  — 

Josephs  a  larcenist  and  a  corpse.  The  law 
a  liar  and  a  felon. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Josephs  has  dropped  out  of  our 
story.  Mr.  Hawes  has  got  himself 
kicked  out  of  our  story  The  other 
prisoners,  of  whom  casual  mention  has 
been  made,  were  never  in  our  story, 
any  more  than  the  boy  Xury  in 
"  Robinson  Crusoe."  Tliere  remains 
to  us  in  the  prison  Mr.  Eden  and  Rob- 
inson, a  saint  and  a  thief. 

My  readers  have  seen  how  the  saint 
has  saved  the  thief  s  life.  They  shall 
guess  awhile  how  on  earth  Susan 
Merton  can  be  affected  by  that  cir- 
cumstance. They  have  seen  a  set  of 
bipeds  acting  on  the  notion  that 
all  prisoners  are  incurable  :  they  have 
seen  a  thief,  thus  despaired  of,  driven 
towards  despair,  and  almost  made 
incurable  through  being  thought  so. 
Then  they  have  seen  this  supposed 
incurable  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
Christian  that  held  "  it  is  never  too 
late  to  mend  "  ;  and  generally  I  think 
that,  feebly  as  my  pen  has  drawn  so 
great  a  character,  they  can  calculate, 
by^  what  Mr.  Eden  has  already  done, 
what  he  will  do  while  I  am  with 
Susan  and  George ;  what  love,  what 
eloquence,  what  ingenuity  he  will 
9* 


move  to  save  this  wandering  sheep,  to' 
turn  this  thief  honest,  and  teach 
him  how  to  be  honest  yet  not 
starve. 

I  will  ask  my  reader  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  good  and  wise  priest  has 
no  longer  his  hands  tied  by  a  jailer  in 
the  interest  of  the  foul  fiend.  But 
then,  against  all  this,  is  to  be  set  the 
slippery  heart  of  a  thief,  a  thief  al- 
most from  his  cradle.  Here  are  great; 
antagonist  forces,  and  they  will  be 
in  daily,  almost  hourly  collision  for 
months  to  come.  In  life  nothing 
stands  still  ;  all  this  will  work  good- 
wards  or  badwards.  I  must  leave  it 
to  work. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

Mr.  Eden's  health  improved  so 
visibly,  that  Susan  Merton  announced 
her  immediate  return  to  her  lather. 
It  was  a  fixed  idea  in  this  young 
lady's  mind,  that  she  and  Mrs.  Da- 
vies  had  no  business  in  the  house  of 
a  saint  upon  earth,  as  she  called  Mr. 
Eden,  except  as  nurses. 

The  parting  of  attached  friends  has 
always  a  touch  of  sadness,  needless  to 
dwell  on  at  this  time.  Enough  that 
these  two  parted  as  brother  and 
young  sister,  and  as  spiritual  adviser 
and  advised,  with  warm  expressions 
of  Christian  amity,  and  an  agreement 
on  Susan's  part  to  write  for  advice 
and  sympathy  whenever  needed. 

On  her  arrival  at  Grassmere  Farm 
there  was  Mr.  Meadows  to  greet  her. 
"  Well,  that  is  attentive ! "  cried  Susan. 
There  was  also  a  stranger  to  her,  a 
Mr.  Clinton. 

As  nothing  remarkable  occurred  this 
evening,  we  may  as  well  explain  this 
Mr.  Clinton.  He  was  a  speculator, 
and,  above  all,  a  setter  on  foot  of 
rotten  speculations,  and  a  keeper  on 
foot  a  little  while  of  lame  ones.  No 
man  exceeded  him  in  the  art  of 
rose-tinting  bad  paper  or  parchment. 
He  was  sanguine  and  fluent.  His 
mind  had  two  eyes,  an  eagle's  and  a 
bat's  :  with  the  first  he  looked  at  the 


202 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  pros,"  and  with  the  second  at  the 
''  cons,"  of  a  sjkc. 

lie  was  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Meadows,  and  had  conic  iliirty  miles 
out  of  the  way  to  show  him  how  to 
make  100  per  cent  without  the  shad- 
ow of  a  risk.  Meadows  declined  to 
violate  the  laws  of  Nature,  hut  said 
he  •  ''  li'  you  like  to  stay  a  day  or  two, 
I  will  introduce  you  to  one  or  two 
Avho  have  money  to  fling  away." 
And  he  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Mer- 
ton.  Now  that  worthy  had  a  fair 
stock  of  latent  cupidity,  and  Mr. 
Clinton  was  the  man  to  tempt  it. 

In  a  very  few  conversations  he  con- 
vinced the  farmer  that  there  were  a 
hundred  ways  of  making  money,  all 
of  them  quicker  than  the  slow  process 
of  farming  and  the  unpleasant  process 
of  denying  one's  self  superfluities,  and 
growing  saved  pennies  into  pounds. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Jolm  7  "  said 
Merton  one  day  to  Meadows,  "  I  have 
got  a  few  hundreds  loose.  I  'm  half 
minded  to  try  and  turn  them  into 
thousands  for  my  girl's  sake.  Mr. 
Clinton  makes  it  clear,  don't  you 
think  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  was  the 
reply.  "  I  have  no  experience  in  that 
sort  of  thing,  hut  it  certainly  looks 
well  the  way  he  puts  it." 

In  short.  Meadows  did  not  discour- 
age his  friend  from  co-operating  with 
Mr.  Clinton  ;  for  his  own  part  he 
spoke  him  fair,  and  expressed  openly 
a  favorable  opinion  of  his  talent,  and 
his  various  projects,  and  always  found 
some  excuse  or  otlier  lor  not  risking 
a  halfpenny  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

One  day  Mr.  Meadows  walked 
into  the  post-office,  Farnhorough, 
and  said  to  Jt  ffenes  the  postmaster, 
"  A  word  with  vou  in  private,  Mr. 
Jetferies." —  "  Certainly,  Mr.  Mead- 
ows, —  come  to  my  l)ack  parlor  sir  ; 
a  tine  dav,  Mr.  Mclidows,  hut  I  think 
we  shall  have  a  shower  or  two." 


"Shouldn't  wonder.  Do  you 
know  this  five-pound  note  .'  "  — 
"  Can't  say  I  do." 

"  Why,  it  has  passed  through  your 
hands  ?  ''  —  "  Has  it  ?  well,  a  good 
many  of  them  i)ass  througli  my  hands 
in  course  of  the  year.  1  wish  a  few 
of  'em  would  stop  on  the  road." 

"  This  one  did.  It  stuck  to  your 
fingers,  as  the  phrase  goes." — "I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  said 
Jerteries,  haughtily. 

"  You  stole  it,"  explained  Mead- 
ows, quietly.  —  "  Take  care,"  cridd 
Jefleries,  in  a  loud  quaver,  —  "  ta,ke 
care  what  you  say  !  I  '11  have  my 
action  of  defamation  against  you, 
double  quick,  if  you  dare  to  say  such 
a  thing  of  me." 

"  So  be  it.  You  v/ill  want  witness- 
es. Defamation  is  no  defamation, 
you  know,  till  the  scandal  is  pub- 
lished. Call  in  your  lodger."  — 
"  Ugh ! " 

"  And  call  your  wife  !  "  cried  Mead- 
ows, raising  his  voice  in  turn."  — 
"  Heaven  forbid  !  Don't  speak  so 
loud,  for  goodness'  sake  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  then,  and 
don't  waste  my  time  Avith  your  gam- a 
mon."  said  Meadows,  sternly.  ThenW 
resuming  his  former  manner  he  went 
on  in  the  tone  of  calm  explanation. 
"  One  or  two  in  this  neighborhood 
lost  money  coming  through"  the  post. 
I  said  to  myself,  '  Jefferies  is  a  man 
that  often  talks  of  his  conscience,  — 
he  will  be  the  thief  ;  so  I  baited 
six  traps  for  you  and  you  took  five. 
This  note  came  over  from  lieland  ; 
you  remember  it  now  "?  "  —  "1  am 
ruined  !  I  am  ruined  !  " 

"You  changed  it  at  Evans's  the 
crocer's ;  you  had  four  sovereigns 
and  silver  for  it.  The  other  baits 
were  a  note,  and  two  sovereigns,  and 
two  half-sovereigns.  You  spared  one 
sovereign,  the  rest  you  nailed.  They 
were  all  marked  by  Lawyer  Craw- 
ley. They  have  been  traced  from 
your  hand'  and  lie  locked  uj)  ready 
for  next  assizes.  Good  n)orning-, 
Mr.  Jeiferies." 

Jetferies  turned  a  cold  jelly  where 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


203 


he  sat ;  and  Meadows  walked  out, 
primed  Crawley,  and  sent  him  to 
stroll  in  sight  of  the  post-office. 

Soon  a  quaverin<;  voice  called 
Crawley  into  the  post-office.  "  Come 
into  my  back  parlor,  sir.  O  Mr. 
Crawlc}',  can  nothing  be  done  ?  No 
one  knows  my  misfortune,  but  you 
and  Mr.  Meadows.  It  is  not  for  my 
own  sake,  sir,  but  my  wife's.  If  she 
knew  I  had  been  tempted  so  far  astray, 
she  would  never  hold  up  her  head 
again.  Sir,  if  you  and  Mr.  Meadows 
will  let  me  off  this  once,  I  will  take" 
an  oath  on  my  bended  knees  never  to 
otfend  again." 

"What  good  will  that  do  me?" 
asked  Crawley,  contemptuously,  — 
"  Ah  !  "  cried  Jefferies,  a  light  break- 
ing in,  "will  money  make  it  right? 
I'll  sell  the  coat  off  my  back." 

"  Humph  !  If  it  was  only  me,  — 
but  Mr.  Meadows  has  such  a  sense  of 
public  duty,  and  yet  —  hum  I  —  I 
know  a  way  to  influence  him  just 
now."  —  "0  sir!  do  pray  use  your 
influenre  with  liim." 

*'  What  will  you  do  for  me  if  I  suc- 
ceed V  —  "  Do  for  you  ?  —  cut  my- 
rlf  in  pieces  to  serve  you." 
"  Well,  Jefferies,  I  'm  undertaking 
a  difficult  task,  —  to  turn  such  a  man 
as  Meadows,  —  but  I  will  try  it,  and 
I  think  I  shall  succeed  ;  but  I  must 
have  terms.  Every  letter  that  comes 
here  from  Australia  you  must  bring 
to  me  with  vour  own  hands  directly." 
^"I  will,  sir,  I  will." 

"  I  shall  keep  it  an  hour  or  two, 
perhaps,  not  more;  and  I  shall  take 
no  money  out  of  it."  —  "  I  will  do  it," 
sir,  and  with  pleasure.  It  is  the 
least  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  And  you  must  find  me  10/."  The 
little  rogue  must  do  a  bit  on  his  own 
account.  —  "  I  must  pinch  to  get  it," 
sail]  Jefferies,  ruefully. 

"  Pinch  tlien,"  replied  Crawley, 
coolly  ;  "  and  let  me  have  it  directly." 
—  "  You  shall  —  you  shall  —  before 
the  day  is  out." 

"  And  you  must  never  let  Meadows 
know  I  took  this  money  of  you."  — 
"  No,  sir,  I  won't !  is  that  all  ?  " 


"  That  is  all."  —  "  Then  I  am  very 
grateful,  sir,  and  I  won't  fail,  you  may 
depend." 

Thus  the  two  battlcdoors  played 
with  this  poor  little  undetected  one, 
whom  his  respectability  no  less  than 
his  roguery  placed  at  their  mercy. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Whenever  Mr.  Meadows  could 
do  Mr.  Levi  an  ill  turn  he  did,  and 
vice  versa.  They  hated  one  another 
like  men  who  differ  about  baptism. 
Susan  sprinkled  dewdrops  of  charity 
on  each  in  turn. 

Levi  listened  to  her  with  infinite 
pleasure.  "  Your  voice,"  said  he,  ".is 
low  and  melodious,  like  the  voice  of 
my  own  people  in  the  East."  And 
then  she  secretly  quoted  the  New 
Testament  to  him,  having  first  ascer- 
tained that  he  had  never  read  it ;  and 
he  wondered  where  on  earth  this  sim- 
ple girl  had  picked  up  so  deep  a  wis- 
dom and  so  lofty  and  self-denying  a 
morality. 

Meadows  listened  to  her  with  re- 
spect from  another  cause  ;  but  the  ill 
offices  that  kept  passing  between  the 
two  men  counteracted  her  transitory 
influence,  and  fed  fat  the  ancient 
grudge. 

♦ 

CHAPTER  XXXIL 

"  Will  Fielding  is  in  the  town  ; 
I  'm  to  arrest  him  as  agreed  last 
night  ?  "  —  "  Hum  !  no  !  " 

"  Why,  I  have  got  the  judgment  in 
my  pocket  and  the  constable  ar  the 
public  hard  by." — "Never  mind! 
he  was  saucy  to  me  in  the  market 
yesterday,  —  I  was  angry  and  —  but 
anger  is  a  snai-e  :  what  shall  I  gain 
by  locking  him  up  just  now  1  let  him 

"  Well,  sir,  your  will  is  law,'  said 
Crawle}',  obsequiously,  but  sadly. 

"  Now  to  business  of  more  impor- 
tance."—  "At  your  service,  sir." 


204 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


But  the  business  of  more  impor- 
tance was  interrupted  by  a  sudden 
knoek  at  the  outside  duor  of  Mr. 
Meadows's  study. 

'•  Well !  "  —  ''A  young  lady  to  see 
you." 

"  A  young  lady?  "  inquired  Mead- 
ows, with  no  very  amial)le  air,  "  I  am 
eniraged,  —  do  you  know  who  it 
is  !  "  —  "  It  is  Farmer  Merton's 
daughter,  David  says." 

"  Miss  Merton  !  "  cried  Meadows, 
with  a  marvellous  change  of  mantier. 
"  Show  her  up  directly.  Crawley, 
run  into  the  passage,  quick,  man, 
and  wait  for  signals." 

He  bundled  Crawley  out,  shut  the 
secret  door,  threw  open  both .  the 
others,  and  welcomed  Susan  warmly 
at  the  threshold.  "  Well,  this  is  good 
of  you,  Miss  Merton,  to  come  and 
shine  in  upon  me  in  my  own  house." 

"  I  hiivc  brought  your  l>ook  back !  " 
replied  Susan,  coloring  a  little  ;  "  that 
was  my  errand  ;  that  is,"  said  she, 
"  that  was  partly  my  errand."  She 
hesitated  a  moment  :  "  I  am  going 
to  Mr.  Levi."  Mcadows's  counte- 
nance fell.  "  And  I  would  n't  go  to 
him  without  coming  to  you  ;  because 
what  I  have  to  say  to  him  I  must  say 
to  you  as  well.  Mr.  Meadows,  do 
let  me  persuade  you  out  of  this  bitter 
feeling  against  the  jjoor  old  man, 
O,  I  know  you  will  siy  he  is  worse 
than  you  are  :  so  he  is,  a  little  ;  but 
then,  consider  he  has  more  excuse 
than  you  ;  he  has  never  been  tauiiht 
how  wicked  it  is  not  to  for<xive. 
You  know  it,  but  don't  practise 
it." 

Meadows  looked  at  the  simple- 
minded  entliu^iasr,  and  his  cold  eye 
deepened  in  color  a-s  it  dwelt  on  her, 
and  his  voice  dropped  into  the  low 
and  modulated  tone  wliieh  no  other 
human  creature  but  this  ever  heard 
from  him.  "  Human  nature  is  very 
rcvenjreful.  Few  of  us  are  like  you. 
It  is  my  misfortune  that  I  have  not 
oftener  a  ksson  from  you  ;  perhaps 
you  might  charm  away  this  utichris- 
tian  spirit  that  makes  me  unworthy  to 


be 


'  y 


—  vour    friend."  —  "  O 


no !  "  cried  Susan,  "  if  I  thought  so, 
should  1  he  here  i  " 

"  Your  voice  and  your  face  do 
make  me  at  peace  with  all  tlie  world, 
Susan,  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  —  Miss 
Merton."  —  "  And  why  not  Susan  ?  " 
said  the  young  lady,  kindly. 

"  Well,  Susan  is  a  very  inviting 
name."  —  "  La,  Mr.  Meadows,"  cried 
Susan,  arching  her  brows,  "  why,  it 
is  a  frightful  name  ;  it  is  so  old-fash- 
ioned ;  nobody  is  christened  Susan 
nowadays." 

"  It  is  a  name  for  everything  that 
is  pood  and  gentle  and  lovely  —  '* 
A  moment  more  and  passion  would 
have  melted  all  the  icy  barriers  pru- 
dence and  craft  had  reared  round  this 
deep  heart.  His  voice  was  trembling, 
Ills  cheek  flushing  ;  but  he  was  saved 
by  —  an  enemy. 

"  Susan  ! "  cried  a  threatening 
voice  at  the  door,  and  there  stood 
William  Fieldhig,  with  a  look  to 
match. 

Rage  burned  in  Mcadows's  heart. 
He  said  brusquely,  "  Come  in,"  and 
seizing  a  slip  of  paper  he  wrote  live 
words  on  it,  and,  taking  out  a  hook, 
flung  it  into^'the  passage  to  CrawIejA 
He  then  turned  towards  W.  Fieldinfp 
who  by  this  time  had  walked  up  to 
Susan  ;  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
screen. 

"  Was  told  you  had  gone  in  here,'* 
said  William,  quietly,  "  so  I  came 
after  you."  —  "Now  that  was  very 
attentive  of  you,"  replied  Susan,  iron- 
ieally.  "  It  is  so  nice  to  have  a  sen- 
sible young  man  like  you  following 
forever  at  one's  heels,  —  like  a  dog." 
A  world  of  quiet  scorn  embellished 
this  little  remark. 

William's  reply  was  happier  than 
usual.  "  The  sheep  find  the  dog 
often  in  their  way,  but  they  are  all  the 
safer  for  him."  —  "  Well,  I  'm  sure," 
cried  Susan,  her  scorn  giving  way  to 
an<rer. 

Mr.  Meadows  put  in  :  "I  must 
trouble  you  to  treat  Mi-s  Merton  with 
proper  res))ect  when  you  speak  to  her 
in  my  house."  —  "  Who  respects  her 
more   than  II"    retorted    William ; 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


205 


*'  but  yon  see,  Mr.  Meadows,  sheep  are 
no  iiiatcli  for  wolves  wlien  the  dog  is 
away,  so  the  dog  is  here." 

"  I  see  the  dog  is  here,  and  by  his 
own  invitation  ;  all  I  say  is,  tiiat,  if  the 
dog  is  to  stay  here,  he  must  behave 
like  a  man." 

William .  gasped  at  this  hit  ;  he 
did  n't  trust  himself  to  answer  Mead- 
ows ;  in  fact  a  blow  of  his  tist  seemed 
to  liim  the  only  sufficient  answer. 
Ho  turned  to  Susan.  "  8usan,  do  you 
remember  poor  George's  last  words 
to  me  1  with  a  tear  in  his  eye  and 
his  hand  in  mine.  Well,  I  keep  my 
promise  to  him,  — I  keep  my  eye  up- 
on such  as  I  think  capable  of  under- 
mining my  brother.  This  man  is  a 
schemer,  Susan,  and  you  are  too  sim- 
ple to  fathom  him." 

The  look  of  surprise  crafty  Mead- 
ows put  on  here,  and  William  Field- 
ing's implied  compliment  to  his  own 
(superior  sagacity,  struck  Susan  as  in- 
iSnicely  ludicrous,  and  she  looked  at 
Meadows  and  laughed  like  a  peal  of 
bells.  Of  course  he  looked  at  her  and 
laughed  with  her.  At  this  all  young 
Eieldin;^'s  self-restraint  went  to  the 
wiii(l>,  and  he  went  on  :  "  But, 
sooner  than  that,  I  '11  twist  as  good  a 
man's  neck  as  ever  schemed  in  Jack 
Meadows's  shoes  !  " 

At  this  defiance,  Meadows  wheeled 
i.'ound  on  William  Fielding  and  con- 
fronted him  with  his  stalwart  person 
and  eyes  glowing  with  gloomy  wrath. 
Susan  screamed  with  terror  at  Wil- 
liam's insulting  words  and  at  the  atti- 
tude of  the  two  men,  and  she  made 
a  step  to  throw  herself  between  them 
if  necessary  ;  but,  before  words  could 
end  in  blows,  a  tap  at  the  study  door 
caused  a  diversion,  and  a  cringing 
sort  of  voice  said  :  "  May  I  come 
in  ?  "  — "  Of  course  you  may,"  shout- 
ed Meadows  ;  "  the  place  is  public. 
Anybody  walks  into  my  room  to-day, 
friend  or  foe.  Don't  ask  my  leave,  — 
come  in,  man,  whoever  you  are,  —  Mr. 
Crawley  ;  well,  I  did  n't  expect  a  call 
from  you  any  more  than  from  this 
one." 

"'  Now  don't  you  be  angry,  sir.     I 


had  a  good  reason  for  intruding  on 
you  this  once.  Jackson  !  "  Jackson 
stepped  forward  and  touched  William 
Fielding  on  tiie  shoulder.  "  You 
must  come  along  with  me,"  said  he. 
—  '•  What  for  1  "  inquired  Fielding. 

"You  arc  arrested  on  this  judg- 
ment," explained  Crawley,  letting  the 
document  peep  a  moment  from  his 
waistcoat-pocket.  William  threw  him- 
self into  an  attitude  of  defence.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  knock  the  officer 
down  and  run  into  another  county, 
but  the  next  moment  he  saw  the  folly 
and  injustice  of  this,  and  another  sen- 
timent overpowered  the  honest,  simple 
fellow,  —  shame.  He  covered  his  lace 
with  both  his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud 
with  the  sense  of  his  humiliation. 

"  O  my  poor  William  I "  cried  Su- 
san. "  O  Mr.  Meadows,  can  nothing 
be  done  ?  "  —  "  Why,  Miss  Merton," 
said  Meadows,  looking  down,  "you 
can't  expect  me  to  do  anything  for 
him.  If  it  was  his  brother,  now, 
Lawyer  Crawley  should  n't  ever  take 
him  out  of  my  house." 

Susan  flushed  all  over.  "  That  I 
am  sure  you  would,  Mr.  Meadows," 
cried  she  (for  feeling  obscured  gram- 
mar). "  Now  see,  dear  William',  how 
your  temper  and  unworthy  suspicions 
alienate  our  friends ;  but  father 
sha'n't  let  you  lie  in  prison.  Mr. 
Meadows,  will  you  lend  me  a  sheet  of 
paper  ?  " 

She  sat  down,  pen  in  hand,  in  gen- 
erous excitement.  While  she  wrote, 
Mr.  Meadows  addressed  Crawley : 
"  And  now  a  word  with  you,  Mr. 
Crawley.  You  and  I  meet  on  busi- 
ness now  and  then,  but  we  are  not 
on  visiting'  terms  that  I  know  of. 
How  come  you  to  walk  into  my  house 
with  a  constable  at  your  back  ?  "  — 
"  Well,  sir,  I  did  it  for  the  best," 
said  Crawley,  apologetically.  "  Onr 
man  came  in  here,  and  the  street  door 
was  open,  and  I  said,  '  He  is  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Meadows,  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  delicate  to  all  parties  to  take 
him  in  doors  than  in  the  open 
street.' " 

"  O   yes  !  "  cried  William,  "  it  is 


206 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


bitter  enough  as  it  is,  but  that  would 
have  been  worse,  — thank  you  for  ar- 
restinj;  me  here,  —  and  now  take  me 
away  and  let  me  hide  from  all  the 
uorid." 

"  Fools  !  "  said  a  firm  voice,  behind 
the  screen. 

"Fools!"  At  this. word  and  a 
new  voice,  Susan  started  up  from  the 
table,  and  William  turned  his  face 
from  the  wall.  Meadows  did  more. 
"  Another  !  "  cried  he,  in  utter  amaze- 
ment ;  "  why,  my  house  is  an  inn. 
Ah  !  " 

Whilst  speaking,  he  had  run  round 
the  screen  and  come  plump  upon 
Isaac  Levi,  seated  in  a  chair,  and 
looking  up  in  his  face  with  stern 
composure.  His  exclamation  brought 
the  others  round  after  him,  and  a 
group  of  excited  faces  encircled  this 
old  man,  seated  sternly  composed. 

"Fools  !  "  repeated  he,  "  these  tricks 
were  stale  before  England  was  a  na- 
tion. Which  of  you  two  has  the 
judgment  1  "  —  "  I,  sir,"  said  Craw- 
ley, at  a  look  from  Meadows. 

"  The  amount  ?  "  —  "A  hundred 
and  six  thirteen  four." 

"  Here  is  the  money.  Give  me  the 
document."  —  "  Here,  sir."  —  Levi 
read  it.  "  This  action  was  taken  on 
a  bill  of  exchange.  I  must  have  that 
too." 

"  Here  it  is,  sir.  Would  you  like 
an  acknowledgment,  Mr.  Levi  ?  "  said 
Crawley,  obsequiously,  —  "  No  !  fool- 
ish man.  Are  not  these  sufficient 
vouchers  ?  "  —  "  You  are  free,  sir," 
said  Crawley  to  William,  with  an  air 
of  clRcrful  congratulation. 

"  Am  I  ?  Then  I  advise  you  to  get 
out  of  mv  way,  for  my  firigers  do  irch 
to  fling  you  head-foremost  down  the 
stairs." 

On  this  hint  out  wriggled'  Mr. 
Crawley,  with  a  semiciicle  of  bows  to 
the  company.  Constable  touched  his 
frontlock  and  went  straight  away  as  if 
he  was  going  through  the  opposite 
wall  of  the  house.  Meadows  pointed 
alter  him  with  his  finger  and  said  to 
Levi:  "You  see  the  road,  —  get  out 
of  my  house." 


The  old  man  never  moved  from  his 
chair,  to  which  he  had  returned  after 
paying  William's  debts.  "  It  is  not 
your  house,"  said  he,  coolly. 

The  other  stared.  "  No  matter," 
replied  Meadows,  sharply,  "  it  is  mine 
till  my  mortgage  is  paid  off." 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  it."  —  "  Ah  !  " 

"Principal  and  interest  calculated- 
up  to  twelve  o'clock  this  eleventh  day 
of  March.  It  wants  five  minutes  to 
twelve.  I  offer  you  principal  and  in- 
terest,—  eight  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  pounds  fourteen  shillings  and 
fivepence  three  farthings  before  tliese 
witnesses,  —  and  demand  the  title 
deeds." 

Meadows  hung  his  head,  but  he 
was  not  a  man  to  waste  words  in  mere 
scolding.  He  took  the  blow  with 
forced  calmness  as  who  should  say, 
"  This  is  your  turn,  —  the  next  is 
mine." 

"  Miss  Merton,"  said  he,  almost  in 
a  whisper,  "  I  never  had  the  honor  to 
receive  you  here  before  and  I  never 
shall  again.  How  long  do  you  give 
me  to  move  my  things  ?  "  —  "  Can 
you  not  guess  ?  "  inquired  the  other, 
with  a  shade  of  curiosity.  ^v 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will  put  ifl« 
to  all  the  inconvenience  you  can. 
Come  now,  am  I  to  move  all  my  fur- 
niture and  effects  out  of  this  great 
house  in  twenty-four  hours'?" — "I 
give  you  more  than  that." 

"  How  kind  !  What,  you  give  me 
a  week  perhaps  ?  "  asked  Meadows,  in- 
credulously.—  "  More  than  that,  you 
fool !  Don't  you  see  that  it  is  on 
next  Lady-day  you  will  be  turned  into 
the  street.  Aha  !  woman-worshipper, 
on  Lady-day  !  A  tooth  for  a  tooth  ! " 
And  the  old  man  ground  his  teeth, 
which  were  white  as  ivory,  and  liis 
fist  clenched  itself,  while  his  eye  glit- 
tered, and  he  swelled  ont  from  the 
chair,  and  literally  bristled  with  hate, 
—  "a  tooth  for  a  tooth  ! " 

"  O  Mr.  Levi,"  said  Susan,  sorrow- 
fully, "  how  soon  you  have  forgotten 
my  last  lesson  !  " 

Meadows  for  a  moment  felt  a  chill 
of   fear    at    the    punctiliousness    of 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


207 


revenga  in  this  Oriental  whom  he  had 
made  his  enemy.  To  tliis  succeeded 
the  old  liate  multiplied  by  ten  ;  but 
he  miide  a  monstrous  ettort  and  drove 
it  from  his  face  down  into  the  recesses 
of  his  heart.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  may 
you  enjoy  this  house  as  I  have  done 
tills  last  twelvemonth  !  " 

"  That  does  you  credit,  good  Mr. 
Meadows,"  cried  simple  Susan,  miss- 
injj:  his  meaning.  Meadows  continued 
in  the  same  tone  :  "  And  I  must  make 
shift  with  the  one  you  vacate  on  Lady- 
diy."  —  "  Solomon,  teach  me  to  out- 
wit this  dog." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Levi,  I  have  visited 
Mr.  Meadows,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
your  house."  —  "  You  shall  be  wel- 
come, kindly  welcome,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  large  and  flowing  courtesy. 

"  And  will  you  show  me,"  said  Su- 
san, very  tenderly,  "  where  Leah  used 
to  sit  ?"  —"Ah!  " 

"  And  where  Rachael  and  Sarah 
loved  to  play?" — "Ah  me!  Ah 
me  !  Ah  me !  Yes !  I  could  not 
show  another  these  holy  places,  but  I 
will  show  you." 

"  And  will  you  fo  get  awhile  this 
unhap;)y  quarrel  and  listen  to  my 
words  ?  "^ — "  Surely  I  snail  listen  to 
you  :  for  'even  now  your  voice  is  to  my 
ear  like  the  wind  sighing  among  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,  and  the  wave  that 
plays  at  night  upon  the  sands  of  Gal- 
ilee." 

"  'T  is  but  the' frail  voice  of  a  fool- 
ish woman,  who  loves  and  respects 
you,  and  yet,"  said  Susan,  her  color 
mauilino:  with  enthusiasm,  "with  it  I 
can  speak  you  words  more  beautiful 
than  Lebanon's  cedars  or  Galilee's 
siiore.  Av,  old  man,  words  that  made 
the  stars  brighter  and  the  sons  of  the 
morning  rejoice.  I  will  not  tell  you 
whence  I  had  them,  but  you  shall  say 
surely  tliey  never  came  from  eartli, 
seltisli,  cruel,  revengeful  earth,  these 
words  tliat  drop  on  our  hot  passions 
like  the  dew,  and  speak  of  trespasses 
forgiven,  and  peace  and  good-will 
among  men." 

Oh  !  magic  of  a  lovely  voice  speak- 
iu'i:  the  truths  of  heaven !     How  still 


the  room  was  as  these  goodly  words 
rang  in  it  from  a  pux'e  heart."  Three 
men  there  had  all  been  raging  with 
anger  and  hate  ;  now  a  calming  music 
fell  like  oil  upon  these  human  waves, 
and  stilled  them. 

The  men  drooped  their  heads,  and 
held  their  breath  to  make  sure  the 
balmy  sounds  had  ceased  :  then  Levi 
answered  in  a  tone  gentle,  thin,  and 
low  (very  different  from  his  last): 
"  Susanna,  bitterness  fades  from  my 
heart  as  you  speak  :  but  experience 
remains  " ;  he  turned  to  Meadows  : 
"■  When  I  Avander  forth  at  Lady-day 
she  shall  still  be  watched  over  though 
I  be  far  away.  My  eye  shall  be  here, 
and  my  hand  shall  still  be  so  over  you 
all  "  ;  and  raising  his  thin  hand  he  held 
it  high  up,  the  nails  pointing  down- 
wards :  it  looked  just  like  a  hawk 
hovering  over  its  prey.  "  I  will  say 
no  bitterer  word  than  that  to-day  " ; 
and  in  fact  he  delivered  this  without 
apparent  heat  or  malice. 

"  Come  then  with  me,  Susanna, — 
a  goodly  name,  it  comes  to  you  frotn 
tlie  despised  people  :  come  like  peace 
to  my  dwellinLT,  Susanna,  —  you  know 
not  this  world's  wiles  as  I  do.  but  you 
can  teach  me  the  higher  wisdom  that 
controls  the  folly  of  passion  and  puri- 
ties the  soul." 

The  pair  were  gone,  and  "William 
and  Meadows  were  left  alone.  The 
latter  looked  sadly  and  gloomily  at 
the  door  by  which  Susan  had  gone 
out.  He  was  in  a  sort  of  torpor. 
H  was  not  conscious  of  William's 
presence. 

Now  the  said  William  had  a  misgiv- 
ing ;  in  the  country  a  man's  roof  is 
sacred ;  he  had  affronted  Meadows 
under  his  own  roof,  and  then  Mr. 
Levi  had  cnmc  and  affronted  him 
there  too.  Williain  bi^iran  to  doubt 
whether  this  was  not  a  little  hard, 
moreover  he  thought  he  had  seen 
Meadows  brush  his  eye  hastily  with 
the  back  of  his  hand  as  Susan  retired. 
He  came  towards  Meadows  with  his 
old  sulky,  honest,  hanir-the-head  man- 
ner, and  said  :  "  Mr.  Meadows,  seems 
to  me  we  have  been  a. little  hard  upon 


208 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


you  in  your  own  house,  and  I  am  not 
quire  easy  about  uiy  share  on  't." 
Aieadows  shru^^-^ed  his  shoulders  iin- 
perceptil)ly. 

**  Weil,  sir,  I  am  not  the  Almijjhty 
to  read  folk's  hearts,  —  least  of  all 
sueh  a  one  as  yours,  —  but  if  I  have 
done  you  wronj;  I  ask  your  ))ardoii. 
Come,  sir,  if  you  don't  mean  to  under- 
mine my  brother  with  the  girl,  you  can 
give  me  your  hand,  and  I  can  give  you 
mine,  —  and  tliere  't  is." 

Meadows  wished  this  young  man 
away,  and,  seeing  tliat  the  best  way  to 
get  lid  of  him  was  to  give  him  his 
hand,  he  turned  roun<l,  and,  scarcely 
looking  towards  him,  gave  him  his 
hand.  William  shook  it  and  went 
away  with  something  that  sounded 
like  a  sigh.  Meadows  saw  him  out, 
and  locked  the  door  impatiently  ;  then 
he  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
laid  his  beating  temples  on  the  cold 
table  ;  then  he  started  up  and  walked 
wildly  to  and  fro  the  room.  The  man 
was  torn  this  way  and  that  with  rage, 
love,  and  remorse. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  thus  ran  his 
thoucrhts.  "  That  angel  is  my  only 
refuge,  and  yet  to  win  her  I  shall 
have  to  walk  throutrh  dirt  and  shame 
and  every  sin  that  is.  I  see  crimes 
ahead  ;  such  a  heap  of  crimes,  my  flesh 
creeps  at  the  number  of  them.  Why 
not  be  like  her,  why  not  be  the 
greatest  saint  that  ever  lived,  instead 
of  one  more  villain  added  to  so  many  ? 
Let  me  tear  this  terrible  love  out  of 
my  heart,  and  die.  Oh  !  if  some  one 
would  but  take  me  by  the  scrulf  of  the 
neck  and  drair  me  to  some  other 
country  a  million  miles  away,  where 
I  might  never  see  my  tempter  again 
till  tiiis  madness  i-J  out  of  me  !  Susan, 
you  are  an  angel,  but  you  will  plunge 
me  to  hell." 

Now  it  happened,  while  he  was  thus 
raving  and  suffering  the  preliminary 
pantrs  of  wronir-doing,  that  his  old 
servant  knocked  at  the  ourside  of  the 
door,  and  thrust  a  letter  through  the 
trap  ;  tlie  letter  was  from  a  country 
gentleman,  one  Mr.  Chester,  for  whom 
he  had  done  business.     Mr.  Chester 


wrote  from  Lancashire.  lie  informed 
Meadows  he  had  sucieeded  to  a  very 
larire  property  in  that  county,  —  it 
had  been  shockingly  mismanM;:e(i  bv 
his  predecessor;  he  wanted  a  capable 
man's  advice,  and  moreover  all  the 
estates  thereabouts  were  compelled  to 
be  surveyed  and  valued  this  year, 
whieh  he  deplored,  but,  since  so  it'was, 
he  would  be  surveyed  and  valued  by 
none  but  John  Meadows. 

"  Come  by  return  of  post,"  added 
this  hasty  sfjuire,  "and  I'll  introduce 
you  to  half  the  landed  proprietors  iu 
this  county." 

Meadows  read  this,  and,  seizing  a 
pen,  wrote  thus  :  — 

"  Dear  Sir  :  —  Yours  received  this 
day  at  1  p.  m.,  and  will  start  for  your 
house  at  6  p.  m." 

He  threw  himself  on  his  horse,  and 
rode  to  his  mother's  house.  "  Mother, 
I  am  turned  out  of  my  house."  — 
"  Why,  John,  you  don't  say  so." 

"I  must  go  into  the  new  house 
I  have  built  outside  the  town."  — 
"  What,  the  one  you  thought  to  let 
to  Mr.  James  ?  " 

"  The  same.  I  have  got  only  a  fort- 
night to  move  all  my  things.  Will 
you  do  me  a  kindness  now  ?  will  you 
see  tbem  put  safe  iiito  the  new  house  ?  " 
—  "  Me,  John  !  why,  I  should  be  afraid 
something  would  go  wrong." 

"  Well,  it  isn't  fair  of  me  to  put 
this  trouble  on  you  at  your  age  ;  but 
read  this  letter,  —  there  is  fifteen  hun- 
dred pounds  waiting  for  me  in  the 
North."  —  The  old  woman  put  on  her 
spectacles,  and  read  the  letter  slowly. 
"  Go,  John  !  go  by  all  means  !  I  will 
see  all  your  things  moved  into  the 
new  house  ;  don't  let  them  be  a  hin- 
drance, you  go.  Your  old'  mother 
will  take  care  your  thinu's  are  not 
hurt  movinir,  nor  you  wronged  in  the 
way  of  expense." 

"  Thank  you,  mother  !  thank  you  ! 
they  say  there  is  no  friend  like  a 
mother,  and  I  dare  say  they  are  not 
far  wrong."  —  "No  such  friend  but 
God,  —  none   such   but   God  !  "  said 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


209 


the  old  woman,  with  pjrcat  emphasis, 
and  lookinj^  Meadows  in  the  laee  with 
a  searching  eye. 

"  Well,  then,  here  are  the  keys  of 
the  new  house,  and  here  are  my  keys. 
I  am  oi\'  tonight,  so  good  by,  mother. 
God  bless  you  !  " 

He  h:id  just  turned  to  p;o,  wlien  by 
an  unusual  impulse  he  turned,  took 
the  Oid  woniim  in  his  hands,  ahnost 
lifted  her  off  the  ground,  for  she 
weighed  light,  and  gave  her  a  hasty 
kiss  on  the  cheek  ;  then  he  set  her 
down  and  strode  out  of  the  house 
al)0ut  his  business. 

When  curious  Hannah  ran  in  tlie 
next  moment,  she  found  the  old  lady 
in  silent  agitation.  "  ()  dear  !  What 
is  the  matter.  Dame  Meadows  1"  — 
"  Nothing  at  all,  silly  girl," 

"Nothing!  And  look  at  you  all 
of  a  tremble."  —  "He  took  me  up  all 
in  a  moment  and  kissed  me.  I  dare 
say  it  is  five-and-twenty  years  since 
he  kissed  me  last.  He  was  a  curly- 
headed  lad  then." 

So  this  had  set  the  poor  old  thing 
trembling.  She  soon  recovered  her 
firmness,  and  that  very  evening  Han- 
nah and  she  slept  in  John's  house, 
and  the  next  day  set  to  and  began  to 
move  his  furniture  and  prepare  his 
new  house  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

/  Peter  Crawley  received  a  regu- 
/^lar  allowance  during  his  chief's  ab- 
sence, and  remained  in  constant 
communication  with  him,  and  was  as 
heictofore  his  moiiey-bag,  his  tool, 
his  invisible  hand.  But,  if  anybody 
had  had  a  microsco;ie  and  lots  of 
time,  they  might  have  discovered  a 
gloomy  hue  spreading  itself  over 
Crawley's  soul.  A  pleasant  illusion 
hail  been  ruddy  shaken. 

All  men  liave  something  they  ad- 
mire 

Crawley   admired   cunning.     It   is 

not  a  sublime  quality,    but   Crawley 

*  thought  it  was,  and   revered   it  with 


pious,  affectionate  awe.  He  had  al- 
ways thought  Mr.  Meadows  No.  1  in 
cunidng,  but  now  came  a  doleful  sus- 
picion that  he  was  No.  2. 

Losing  a  portion  of  his  veneration 
for  the  chief  he  had  seen  out-manoeu- 
vred he  took  the  liberty  of  getting 
drunk  contrary  to  his  severe  com- 
mand, and,  being  drunk  and  maudlin, 
he  unbosomed  liimself  on  this  head  to 
a  low  woman,  who  was  his  contidantc 
whenever  drink  loosened  his  tongue. 

"  1  'm  out  spirits,  Sal.  I  'm  tebbly 
out  spirits.  Where  shall  we  all  go 
to?  I  din  n't  think  there  was  great 
a  man  on  earth  z  Mizza  Meadows. 
But  the  worlz  Avide.  Mizza  Levi  z 
greada  man,  —  a  mudge  greada  man 
(hie).  He  was  down  upon  us  like  a 
amma  (hie).  His  Jew's  eye  went 
througli  our  lill  sgeme  like  a  gimlet. 
'  Fools  !  '  says  he,  that 's  me  ami 
Meadows,  '  these  dodges  were  used 
up  in  our  famly  before  Lunnun  was 
built.  Fools  ! '  Mizza  Levi  desjjises 
me  and  Meadows  ;  and  I  respect  him 
accordingly.  I  'm  tebbly  out  spirits 
(hie)." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Farmer  Merton  received  a  line 
from  Meadows  telling  him  he  had 
gone  into  Lancashire  on  important 
business,  and  did  not  expect  to  be 
back  for  three  months,  except  perhnps 
for  a  day  at  a  time.  Merton  handed 
the  letter  to  Susan. 

"  We  shall  miss  him,"  was  her  re- 
mark. —  "  That  we  shall.  He  is  cap- 
ital company." 

"And  a  worthy  man  into  the  bar- 
gain," said  Susan,  warmly,  "spite  of 
what  little-minded  folk  say  and  think. 
What  do  you  think  that  Will  Field- 
ing did  only  yesterday  ^  "  —  "I  don't 
know." 

"  Well,  he  followed  me  into  —  there, 
it  is  not  worth  while  having  an  open 
quarrel,  but  I  shall  hate  the  sight  of 
his  very  face.  I  can't  think  how  such 
a  fool  can  be  George's  brother.  No 
wonder  George  and  he  could  not 
N 


210 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


ajrree.  Poor  Mr.  Meadows, — to  be 
artVonted  in  his  own  house  just  for 
treatinf^  nie  with  respect  and  civility, 
^o  that  is  a  erime  now."  —  "What 
are  you  saying,  <,ntl  ?  That  youiij^ 
pauper  affront  my  friend  Meadows, 
the  warmest  man  for  fifty  miles  round  ! 
If  he  has,  he  shall  never  eome  on  my 
premises  again.  You  may  take  your 
oaih  of  that." 

Susan  looked  ajjhast.  This  was 
more  than  she  had  bargained  for. 
She  was  the  last  in  the  world  to  set 
two  people  by  the  ears. 

"  Now  don't  you  be  so  peppery, 
father,"  said  she.  "  There  is  nothing 
to  make  a  quarrel  about."  — "  Yes, 
there  is,  though,  if  that  ignorant  beg- 
gar insulted  my  friend." 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  —  "  Why,  what 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  —  that  here  is  Mr.  Clinton 
coming  to  the  door."  —  "  Let  him  in, 
girl ;  let  him  in.  And  you  need  n't 
stay.  We  are  going  to  talk  busi- 
ness." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Mrs.  Meadows  preparing  her  son's 
new  home  and  defeating  the  little 
cheating  tradesmen  and  workmen 
that  fasten  like  leeches  on  such  as 
carry  their  furniture  to  a  new  house; 
Hannah  working  round  and  round 
lier  in  a  state  of  glorious  excitement ; 
Crawley  smelling  of  Betts'  Bririsli 
brandy,  and  slightly  regretting  he 
was  not  No.  I's'tool  (Levi's)  instead 
of  No.  2's,  as  he  now  bitterly  called 
liim,  and  writing  obsequious  letters 
to,  and  doing  the  dirty  work  of,  the 
said  No.  2  ;  old  Merton  speculating, 
sometimes  losing,  sometimes  winning  ; 
]\Ieadows  gone  to  Lancashire  with  a 
fixed  idea  that  Susan  would  be  his 
ruin  if  he  could  not  cure  himself  of 
his  love  for  her;  Susan  rather  regret- 
ting his  absence,  and  wishing  for  his 
return,  that  she  might  show  him  how 
little  she  sympathized  with  Will 
Fielding's  suspicions,  injustice,  and 
brutality. 


Leaving  all  this  to  work,  our  story 
follows  an  honest  fellow  to  the  oilier 
side  of  the  irlobe. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

George  Fielding  found  Farmer 
Dodd  waiting  to  drive  him  to  the 
town  where  he  was  to  meet  Mr.  Win- 
chester. The  farmer's  wife  would 
press  a  glass  of  wine  upon  George. 
She  was  an  old  playmate  of  his,  and 
the  tear  was  in  her  eye  as  she  shook 
his  hand  and  bade  Heaven  bless  him, 
and  send  him  safe  back  to  "  The 
Grove." 

"  A  taking  of  his  hand  and  him 
going  acK)ss  sea  !  !  Can't  ye  do  no 
better  nor  that,"  cried  the  stout  farm- 
er ;  "  I  'ra  not  a  looking,  dame." 

So  then  Mrs.  Dodd  )iut  her  hands 
on  George's  shoulders,  and  kissed  him 
rustic-wise  on  both  cheeks,  —  and  he 
felt  a  tear  on  his  cheek,  and  stam- 
mered, "  Good  by,  Jane,  —  you  and 
I  were  always  good  neighbors,  —  but 
now  we  sha'  n't  be  neighbors  for 
a  while.  Ned,  drive  me  away,  please, 
and  let  me  shut  my  eyes  and  forget 
that  e^cr  I  was  horn." 

The  farmer  made  a  signal  of  intelli- 
gence to  his  wife,  and  drove  him 
liastily  away. 

They  went  along  in  silence  for 
about  two  miles.  Then  the  farmer 
suddenly  stopped.  Geoige  looked 
up,  the  other  looked  down.  "  Allen's 
(^orner,  George.  You  know  '  The 
Grove  '  is  in  sight  from  here,  and  af- 
ter this  we  sha'  n't  see  it  again  on  ac- 
coimt  of  this  here  wood,  you  know.'* 
"  Thank  ye,  Ned  !  Yes,  —  one 
more  look,  —  the  afternoon  sun  lies 
upon  it.  O,  how  ditferent  it  do  seem 
K)  my  eyes  now,  by  what  it  used  when 
I  rode  by  from  market ;  but  then  I 
was  going  to  it,  now  1  'm  going  far,  ' 
far  from  it,  —  never  heed  me,  Ned,  — 
I  shall  he  better  in  a  nioment.  Heav- 
en forgive  me  for  thinking  so  little 
of  the  village  folk  as  1  have  done." 
Then  he  suddenly  threw  up  his  hands.- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO   MEND.' 


211 


"  God  bless  the  place  and  bless  the 
folk,"  h(i cried,  very  loud,  "  God  bless 
them  all  from  the  oklest  man  in  it, 
and  th.U  is  jrrandfiither,  down  to 
Isaae  King's  lirtlc  uirl  that  was  born 
yesternight!  and  may  none  of  them 
ever  come  to  this  corner,  and  their 
faces  turned  towards  the  sea." 

"  Doant  ye,  Gcor<;e  !  doant  ye ! 
doant  ye  !  doant  ye  !  "  cried  Edward 
Dodd,  in  great  agitation. 

"  Let  the  mare  go  on,  Ned  ;  she  is 
fretting  through  her  skin." 

"  I  '11  fret  her,"  roared  the  farmer, 
lifting  his  whip  exactly  as  if  it  was  a 
sword,  and  a  cut  to  be  made  at  a  dra- 
goon's helmet.  "  I  '11  cut  her  liver 
out." 

"  No  ye  sha'  n't."  said  George. 
"  Poor  thing,  she  is  thinking  of  her 
corn  at  the  Queen's  Head  in  Newbor- 
ough  :  she  is  n't  going  across  the  sea, 
—  let  her  go,  I  've  taken  my  last  look 
and  said  my  last  word  "  ;  and  he  cov- 
ered up  his  face. 

Farmer  Dodd  drove  on  in  silence, 
except  that  every  now  and  then  he 
gaA^e  an  audible  snivel,  and  whenever 
this  occurred  he  always  accommo- 
dated the  iiiare  with  a  smart  cut,  — 
reasonable  ! 

At  Ncwborough  they  found  Mr. 
Winchester.  He  drove  George  to  the 
rail,  and  that  night  they  slept  on 
board  the  "  Phoenix  "  emigrant  ship. 
Here  they  found  three  hundred  men 
and  women  in  a  ship  where  there 
was  room  for  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
accommodation  for  eighty. 

Next  morning,  "  Farmer,"  said 
Mr.  Winchester,  gayly,  "  we  have 
four  hours  before  we  sail,  —  some  of 
these  poor  people  will  suffer  great 
hardships  between  this  and  Sydney  ; 
suppose  you  and  I  go  and  buy  a  lot 
of  blankets,  brawn,  needles,  canvas, 
great-coats,  felt,  American  beef,  so- 
lidified milk,  Mackintoshes,  high- 
lows,  and  thimbles.  That  will  rouse 
us  up  a  little."  —  *'  Thank  you,  sir, 
kindly." 

Out  they  went  into  the  RatclifFe 
Highway,  and  chaffered  with  some  of 
the  greatest  rascals  in   trade.     The 


diflerence  between  what  they  asked 
and  what  they  took  made  George 
stare.  Their  little  cabin  Avas  crowded 
with  goods,  only  just  room  enouujh 
for  the  aristocrat,  the  farmer,  and 
Carlo.  And  now  the  hour  came. 
Poor  George  was  roused  from  his  rt'i-h- 
argy  by  the  noise  and  bustle  ;  and  0, 
the  creaking  of  cables  sickened  his 
heart.  Then  the  steamer  came  up 
and  took  them  in  tow,  and  these  our 
countrymen  and  women  were  pulled 
away  from  their  native  land,  too  little 
and  too  full  to  hold  us  all.  It  was  a 
sad  sight,  saddest  to  those  Avhosc  ow- 
flesh  and  blood  was  on  the  shore,  anci 
saw  the  steamer  pull  them  away  ;  bit- 
terest to  those  who  had  no  friend  to 
watch  them  go. 

How  they  clung  to  England  !  they 
stretched  out  their  hands  to  her,  and, 
when  they  could  hold  to  her  no  other 
way,  they  waved  their  hats  and  their 
handkerchiefs  to  their  countrymen, 
who  waved  to  them  from  shore,  — 
and  so  they  spun  out  a  little  longer 
the  slender  chain  that  visibly  bound 
them  to  her.  And  at  this  moment 
even  the  iron-hearted  and  the  reckless 
were  soft  and  sad.  Our  hearts'  roots 
lie  in  the  soil  we  have  grown  on. 

No  wonder,  then,  George  Fielding 
leaned  over  the  ship-side,  benumbe(l 
with  sorrow,  and  counted  each  foot  of 
water  as  it  glided  by,  and  thouglit, 
"  Now  I  am  so  much  farther  from 
Susan." 

For  a  wonder  he  was  not  sea-sick, 
but  his  appetite  Avas  gone  from  a  no- 
bler cause  ;  he  could  hardly  be  per- 
suaded to  eat  at  alitor  many  days. 

The  steamer  cast  off  at  Gravesend, 
and  the  captain  made  sail  and  beat 
down  the  Channel.  Off  the  Scilly 
Isles  a  northeasterly  breeze,  and  the 
"  Phoenix"  crowded  all  her  canvas; 
when  topsails,  j'oyals,  sky-scrapers, 
and  all  were  drawing,  the  men  rii^god 
out  booms  alow  and  aloft,  and  by- 
means  of  them  set  studding  sails  out 
several  yards  clear  of  the  hull  on  ei- 
ther side  ;  so  on  she  ploughed,  her  can- 
vas spread  out  like  an  enormous  fan 
or   a  huge  albatross   all   wings.      A 


212 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


poodly,  gallant  show ;  but  under  all 
this  vast  and  swelling  plumage  an 
exile's  heart. 

Of  all  t!iat  smarted,  ached,  and 
throbbed  bi'ueath  that  swelling  j)lu- 
m:me,  few  .suffered  more  th.ui  jiour 
George.  It  was  his  first  great  sorrow  ; 
and  all  so  new  and  strange. 

The  ship  touched  at  Madeira,  and 
then  flew  southward  with  the  favoring 
gale.  Many,  many  leagues  she  sailed, 
and  still  George  hung  over  the  bul- 
warks and  sadly  watched  the  waves. 
This  simple-minded,  honest  fellow  was 
not  a  girl.  If  they  had  offered'  to 
put  the  ship  about  and  take  him  back, 
he  would  not  have  consented,  but  yet 
to  go  on  almost  broke  his  heart.  He 
was  steel  and  butter.  His  friend,  the 
lionorable  Frank  Winchester,  was  or 
seemed  all  steel.  He  was  one  of 
those  sanguine  spirits  that  don't  ad- 
mit into  their  minds  the  notion  of  ul- 
timate failure.  He  was  supported  too 
by  a  natural  and  indomitable  gayety. 
Whatever  most  men  grumble  or  whine 
at  he  took  as  practical  jokes  played 
by  Fortune,  partly  to  try  his  good  hu- 
mor, but  more  to  amuse  liim. 

The  poorer  passengers  suffered 
much  discomfort,  and  the  blankets, 
etc.,  stored  in  Winchester's  cabin, 
often  warmed  these  two  honest  hearts, 
as  with  pitying  hands  they  wrajiped 
them  round  some  shivering  fellow- 
creature. 

Off  Capo  Yerd  a  heavy  gale  came 
on  :  it  lasted  thirty-six  hours,  and  the 
distress  and  sufferings  of  the  over- 
crowded passengers  were  terrible. 
An  unpaternal  government  had  al- 
lowed a  ship  to  imdertake  a  voyage 
of  twelve  tliousand  miles,  with  a  short 
crew,  short  provisions,  and  just  twice 
as  manv  pas-^engers  as  could  be  pro- 
tected from  the  weatlier. 

Driven  from  the  deck  by  the  pier- 
cing wind  and  the  deluges  of  water 
th:<t  came  on  board,  and  crowded  into 
the  narrowest  compass,  many  of  these 
unfortunates  almost  died  of  sickness 
and  polluted  air  ;  and,  when  in  despair 
they  rushed  back  upon  deck,  horrors 
and  suffering  met   ihem   in  another 


shape  ;  in  vain  they  huddled  togethef 
for  a  little  warmth  and  tried  to  shield 
themselves  with  blankets  stretched  to 
windward.  The  bitter  blast  cut  like 
a  razor  through  their  threadbare  de- 
fences, and  the  water  rushed  in  tor- 
rents along  the  deck  and  crept  cold  as 
ice  up  their  bodies  as  they  sat  huddled, 
or  lay  sick  and  despairing  on  the  hanl 
and  tossing  wood  ;  and,  whenever  a 
heavier  sea  than  usual  struck  the  ship, 
a  despairing  scream  burst  from  the 
women,  and  the  good  ship  groaned 
and  shivered  and  seemed  to  sliare 
their  fears,  and  the  blast  yelled  into 
their  souls,  "  I  am  mighty  as  fate, 
_^ — as  fate.  And  pitiless!  pitiless! 
Ipitiless  !  pitiless  !  pitiless  !  " 
'  Oh,  then  how  they  longed  for  a  mud 
cabin,  or  a  hole  picked  with  a  ])ickaxe 
in  some  ancient  city  wall,  or  a  cow- 
house, or  a  cart-shed,  in  their  native 
land ! 

But  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no- 
body good.  This  storm  raised  George 
Fielding's  better  part  of  man.  Integer 
vitce  scelerisque  purus  was  not  very 
much  afraid  to  die.  Once  when  tlie 
"  Phoenix  "  gave  a  weather  roll  that 
wetted  the  foresail  to  the  yard-arm, 
he  said,  "  My  poor  Susan  ! "  with  a 
pitying  accent,  not  a  quavering  one. 
But  most  of  the  time  he  was  busy 
crawling  on  all-fours  -from  one  suf- 
ferer to  another  with  a  drop  of  brandy 
in  a  phial.  The  wind  en)ptied  a  glass 
of  the  very  moisture,  let  alone  the  liq- 
uid, in  a  moment.  So  George  would 
put  his  bottle  to  some  poor  creature's 
lips,  and  if  it  was  a  man  he  would 
tell  him  in  his  simple  way  who  was 
stronger  than  the  wind  or  the  sea, 
and  that  the  ship  could  not  go  down 
without  His  will.  To  the  women  he 
whispered  that  he  had  just  had  a  word 
with  the  captain,  and  he  said  it  was 
only  a  gale,  not  a  tenipc>Jt  as  the  pas- 
sengers fancied,  and  there  was  no 
dantrcr,  none  whatever. 

The  gale  blew  its  df  out,  a;  d  then 
for  an  hour  or  two  the  ship  rolled 
frightfully  ;  but  at  last  the  angry  sea 
went  down,  the  decks  were  mopped, 
the  "  Phoenix  "  shook  her  wet  feath- 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


213 


ers  and  sprend  lier  wings  again  and 
glided  on  her  \v:iy. 

Geortrc  felt  :i  little  better  ;  the  storm 
shook  him  and  roused  him  and  did 
hiiu  gool.  And  it  was  a  coinci- 
dence in  the  history  of  these  two  lov- 
ers, that  jnst  as  Susan  under  Mr. 
Eden's  advice  was  applying  the  heal- 
ing ointment  of  charitable  employ- 
n)ent  to  her  wound,  George,  too,  was 
finding  a  little  comfort  and  life  from 
the  little  bit  of  good  he  and  his  friend 
did  to  the  poor  population  in  his 
wooden  hamlet. 

After  a  voyage  of  four  months,  one 
evening  the  captain  shortened  sail, 
though  the  breeze  was  fair  and  the 
night  clear.  Upon  being  asked  the 
reason  of  this  strange  order,  he  said, 
knowingly  :  "  If  you  get  up  with  the 
sun  perhaps  you  will  see  the  rea^^on." 

Curiosity  being  excited,  one  or  two 
did  rise  before  the  sun.  Just  as  he 
emerged  from  the  sea  a  young  seaman 
called  Patterson,  who  was  in  the  fore- 
top,  hailed  the  deck. 

"  What  is  it?  "  roared  the  mate.  — 
"  Land  on  the  weather-bow,"  sung 
out  tlie  seaman,  in  reply. 

Land  !  In  one  moment  the  word 
ran  like  electric  fire  through  all  the 
veins  of  the  "  Phoenix  "  ;  the  upper 
deck  was  crowded  in  a  minute,  but  all 
were  disappointed.  No  one  saw  land 
but  Mr.  Patterson,  whose  elevation 
and  keen  sight  gave  him  an  advan- 
tage. But  a  heavenly  smell  as  of  a 
region  of  cowslips  came  and  perfumed 
the  air  and  rejoiced  all  the  hearts  ; 
at  six  o'clock  a  something  like  a  nar- 
row cloud  broke  the  watery  horizon 
on  the  weather-bow.  All  ^  sail  was 
made  and  at  noon  the  coast  of  Aus- 
tralia glittered  like  a  diamond  under 
their  lee. 

Then  the  three  hundred  prisoners 
fell  into  a  wild  excitement,  —  some 
became  irritable,  orhers  absurdly  af- 
fectionate to  people  they  did  not  care 
a  button  for.  The  captain  himself 
was  not  free  from  the  intoxication  ; 
he  walked  the  deck  in  jerks  instead  of 
his  usual  roll,  and  clapped  on  sail  as 
if  he  would  fly  on  shore. 


At  half  past  one  they  glided  out  of 
the  open  sea  into  the  Port  Jackson 
Kiver.  They  were  now  in  a  harbor 
fifteen  miles  long,  land-locked  on  both 
sides,  and  not  a  shoal  or  a  rock  in  it. 
This  wonderful  haven,  in  which  all 
the  navies  that  float  or  ever  will  float 
miglit  manoeuvre  all  day,  aiul  ride  at 
anchor  all  night,  without  jostling,  was 
the  sea  avenue  by  which  they  ap- 
proached a  land   of  wonders. 

It  was  the  second  of  December. 
The  sky  was  purple  and  the  sun 
blazed  in  its  centre.  The  land  glit- 
tered like  a  thousand  emeralds  beneath 
his  glowing  smile,  and  the  waves 
seemed  to  drink  his  glory  and  melt  it 
into  their  tints,  so  rich  were  the  fiakes 
of  burning  gold  that  shone  in  the 
heart  of  their  transparent  lovely- 
blue. 

Oh !  what  a  heavenly  land  !  and 
after  four  months'  prison  at  sea. 

Our  humble  hero's  heart  beat  high 
with  hope.  Surely  in  so  glorious  a 
place  as  this  he  could  make  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  tiien  dart  back  with 
it  to  Susan.  Long  before  the  ship 
came  to  an  anchor,  George  got  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  by  a  natural  impulse 
wrote  to  Susan  a  letter,  telling  her  all 
the  misery  the  "Phoenix"  and  her 
passengers  had  come  throutrh  between 
London  Bridge  and  Sydney  Cove, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  written  it  he 
tore  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  water. 
"  It  would  have  vexed  her  to  hear 
what  I  have  gone  through.  Time 
enough  to  tell  her  that  when  I  am 
home  ag:ain  sitting  by  the  fire  with  her 
hand  in  mine." 

So  then  he  tried  again  and  wrote  a 
cheerful  letter,  and  concealed  all  his 
troubles  except  his  sorrow  at  being 
oldiged  to  go  so  far  from  her  even  for 
a  time.  "  Hut  it  is  only  for  a  time, 
Susan,  dear.  And,  Susan,  dear,  I  've 
got  a  good  friend  here,  and  one  that 
can  feel  lor  us,  for  he  is  here  on  the 
satne  errand  as  I  am.  I  am  to  bide 
vviih  him  six  months  and  help  him 
the  best  I  can,  and  so  I  shall  learn 
how  matters  are  managed  here  ;  and 
after  that  I  am  to  set  up  on  my  ovva 


214 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


account ;  and,  Susan,  dear,  I  do  think 
by  all  1  can  see  there  is  money  to  he 
niiule  here.  Heaven  knows  my  heart 
was  never  much  set  on  gain,  hnt  it  is 
now  because  it  is  the  road  to  you. 
Please  tell  Will  Carlo  has  been  a 
great  comfort  to  me  and  is  a  general 
favorite.  lie  pointed  a  rat  on  board 
shij),  —  but  it  was  excusable,  and  liim 
cooped  u])  so  long  and  had  almost 
forgotten  the  smell  of  a  bird,  I  dare 
say  ;  and  if  anybody  comes  to  make 
believe  to  threaten  me  he  is  ready  to 
]inll  them  down  in  a  minute.  So  tell 
Will  this,  and  that  I  do  think  his  mas- 
ter is  as  much  my  friend  at  home  as 
the  dog  is  out  hero. 

"  Susan,  dear,  I  do  beg  of  you  as  a 
great  favor  to  keep  up  your  heart,  and 
not  give  way  to  grief  or  desponding 
feelings  :  I  don't  ;  leastways  I  won't. 
Poor  Mr.  Winchester  is  here  on  the 
same  errand  as  I  am.  But  I  often 
tliink  his  heart  is  stouter  than  mine, 
which  is  much  to  his  credit  and  little 
to  mine.  Susan,  dear,  I  have  come  to 
the  country  that  is  farther  from 
Grassmere  than  any  other  in  the 
globe,  —  that  seems  hard  ;  and  my 
very  face  is  turned  the  opposite  way 
to  yours  as  I  walk,  but  nothing  can 
ever  turn  my  heart  away  from  my 
Susan.  I  desire  my  respects  to  Mr. 
IMerton,  and  that  you  would  tell  him 
I  will  makethe  one  thousand  pounds, 
please  God.  But  I  hope  you  will 
pray  for  me,  Susan,  that  I  may  have 
that  success  ;  you  are  so  good  that  I 
do  think  the  Almighty  will  hear  you 
Sooner  than  me  or  any  one.  So 
no  more  at  present,  dear  Susan,  but 
remain 

"  With  sincere  respect  your  loving 
servant  and  faithful  lover  till  death, 
"  Georgk  Fielding." 

They  landed.  Mr.  Winchester  pur- 
chased the  right  of  feeding  cattle  over 
a  large  tract  a  hundnMJ  miles  distant 
from  Sydney,  and  after  a  few  days 
spent  in  that  capital  started  with  their 
wagons  into  the  inteiior.  There  for 
al)Out  tive  months  George  Avas  Mr. 
Winchester's   factotum,   and  though 


he  ha<l  himself  much  to  learn,  the 
country  and  its  habits  being  new  to 
him,  still  he  saved  his  friend  from  fun- 
damental errors,  and  from  live  in  the 
morning  till  eight  at  night  ])ut  zeal, 
honesty,  and  the  muscular  strength 
of  two  ordinary  men  at  his  friend's 
service. 

At  the  expiration  of  this  period, 
Mr.  Winchester  said  to  him  one  even- 
ing :  "  George,  I  can  do  my  work 
alone  now,  and  the  time  is  come  to 
show  my  sense  of  your  services  and 
friendship.  I  have  bought  a  run  for 
you  about  eight  miles  from  here,  and 
now  yon  are  to  choose  five  hundred 
sheep  and  thirty  beasts ;  the  black 
pony  you  ride  goes  with  them."  — 
"  0  no,  sir  ;  it  is  enough  to  rob  you 
of  them  at  all  without  me  going  and 
taking  the  pick  of  them." 

"  Well !  will  you  consent  to  pen 
the  flocks,  and  then  lift  one  hurdlo 
and  take  them  as  they  come  out,  so 
many  from  each  lot?"  —  "  That  I 
consent  to,  sir,  and  remain  your  debtor 
for  life." 

"  I  can't  see  it ;  I  set  my  life  a  great 
deal  higher  than  sheepskin." 

Mr.  Winchister  did  not  stop  there, 
he  forced  a  hundred  pounds  upon 
George.  "  If  you  start  in  any  busi- 
ness with  an  empty  pocket  you  are  a 
gone  coon." 

So  these  two  friends  parted  with 
mutual  esteem,  and  George  set  to 
work  by  prudenc  e  and  vigor  to  make 
the  thousand  pounds. 

One  thousand  pounds  !  This  one  is 
to  have  the  woman  he  loves  for  a 
thousand  pounds  :  that  sounds  cheap. 
Heaven  upon  earth  for  a  thousand 
pounds.  What  is  a  thousand 
pounds  ?  Nothing.  There  are  slip- 
pery men  that  gain  this  in  a  week  by 
time  barirains,  trading  on  capital  of 
roynd  O's  ;  others  who  m  t  as  much 
in  an  evening,  and  as  honorably,  by 
cards.  There  are  merchants  who  net 
twenty  times  this  sum  by  a  single  op- 
eration. 

•  "  An  operation  ?  "  inquires  Bcl- 
gravia. 

This  is  an  operation  :  you  send  forth 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


215 


^  man  not  p^iven  to  drink  and  conse- 
quently chatter  to  Ani^tvrdam,  anotlier 
not  <;ivL'n  to  drink  and  chatter  to  New 
Orleans,  another  n.  ^^  t.  d.  and  c.  to 
Bordeaux,  Cadiz,  Canton,  Liverpool, 
Japan,  and  where  not  all,  with  secret 
instructions.  Then  at  an  appointed 
day  all  the  men  n.  g.  t.  d.  and  c.  begin 
gradually,  secretly,  cannily,  to  buy  up 
in  all  those  places  all  the  lac  dye  or 
something  of  the  kind  that  you  and  I 
thought  there  Avas  about  thirty  pounds 
of  in  creation.  This  done  mercator 
raises  the  price  of  lac-dye  or  what  not 
throughout  Europe.  If  he  is  greedy 
and  raises  it  a  halfpenny  a  pound,  per- 
haps commerce  revolts  and  invokes 
nature  against  so  vast  an  oppression, 
and  nature  comes  and  crushes  our 
speculator.  But  if  he  be  wise  and 
puts  on  what  mankind  can  bear,  say 
three  mites  per  pound,  then  he  sells 
tons  and  tons  at  this  fractional  profit 
on  each  pound,  and  makes  fourteen 
thousand  pounds  by  lac-dye,  or  the 
like,  of  which  you  and  I  thought  crea- 
tion held  thirty  or  at  most  thirty-two 
pounds. 

These  men  are  the  warriors  of 
commerce;  but  its  smaller  captains, 
watching  the  fluctuations  of  this  or 
that  market,  can  often  turn  a  thousand 
pounds  ere  we  could  say  J.  R.  Far 
more  than  a  thousand  pounds  have 
been  made  in  a  year  liy  selling  pastry 
off  a  tal)le  in  the  Boidevards  of  Piiris. 

In  matters  practical  a  single  idea 
is  worth  thousands. 

This  nation  being  always  in  a  hurry 
paid  four  thousand  pounds  to  a  man 
to  show  them  how  to  sejiarate  letter- 
stamps  in  a  hurry.  "  Punch  the  di- 
visions full  of  little  holes,"  said  he, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  four 
thousand  pounds  ;  and  now  test  his 
invention,  tear  one  head  from  another 
in  a  hurry,  and  you  wiil  see  that  money 
sometimes  goes  cheaper  than  invention. 

A  single  idea  is  sometimes  worth  a 
thousand  pounds  in  a  book,  though 
boohs  arc  by  flir  the  least  lucrative 
channels  ideas  run  in  ;  Mr.  Bradshaw's 
duodecimo,  to  wit,  —  profit  seven 
thousand  pounds  per  annum. 


A  thousand  pounds  !  How  many 
men  have  toiled  for  money  all  their 
lives,  liave  met  witli  success,  yet  never 
reached  a  thousand  pounds. 

Eight  thousand  servants,  fed  and 
half  clothed  at  their  master's  expense, 
have  put  by  for  forty  years,  and  yet  not 
even  by  aid  of  interest  and  compound 
interest,  and  perquisites,  and  com- 
missions squeezed  out  of  little  trades- 
men, and  other  time-honored  embezzle- 
ments, have  reached  the  Rubicon  of 
four  figures.  Five  thousand  little 
shopkeepers,  active,  intelligent,  and 
greedy,  have  bought  wholesale  and 
sold  retail,  yet  never  mounted  so 
high  as  this  above  rent,  housekeeping, 
bad  debts,  and  casualties.  Many  a 
writer  of  genius  has  charmed  his  na- 
tion and  adorned  her  language,  yet 
never  held  a  thousand  i)ounds  in  his 
hand  even  for  a  day.  Many  a  great 
painter  has  written  the  w^orld-wide 
language  of  form  and  color,  and  at- 
tained to  European  fame,  but  not  to 
a  thousand  pounds  sterling  English. 

Among  all  these  aspirants  and  a 
million  more,  George  Fielding  now 
made  one,  urged  and  possessed  by  as 
keen  an  incentive  as  ever  spurred  a 
man. 

George's  materials  were  five  hun- 
dred sheep,  twenty  cows,  ten  bullocks, 
two  large  sheep-dogs,  and  Carlo.  It 
was  a  keen,  clear,  frosty  day  in  July 
when  he  drove  his  herd  to  his  own 
pasture.  His  heart  beat  high  that 
morning.  He  left  Abner,  his  shep- 
herd, a  white  native  of  the  colony,  to 
drive  the  slow  cattle.  He  strode  out 
in  advance,  and  scarce  felt  the  ground 
beneath  his  feet.  The  thermometer 
was  at  28°,  yet  his  coat  was  only  tied 
round  his  neck  by  the  sleeves  as  he 
swept  along,  all  health,  fire,  manhood, 
love,  and  hope.  He  marched  this  day 
like  dear  Smollett's  lines,  whose 
thoughts,  though  he  had  never  heard 
them,  fired  his  heart :  — 

"Thy  spirit.  Independence,  let  me  share, 
Lord  of  the  lion  heart  and  ea^le  eye  ; 
Thy  steps  I  follow  with  my  bosom  bare. 
Nor  heed  the  storm  that  howls  along  the 
sky." 


216 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


He  was  on  the  ground  lonjr  before 
Abner,  ami  set  to  work  biiildiujj  a 
rooHess  Imt  on  the  west  side  of  some 
thiek  bushi'S,  and  hard  \)y  the  only 
water  near  at  hand  :  and  here  he 
fixed  his  head-quarters,  stretched  a 
blanket  across  the  hut  for  a  roof,  and 
slept,  his  own  master. 


CHAPTER  XXX VII. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  Georji^e 
rieldin<j;'s  stock  had  varied  thus. 
Eour  hundred  lambs,  ten  calves,  fif- 
teen cows,  four  hundred  sheep.  He 
had  lost  some  sheep  in  lambin<r,  and 
one  cow  in  ealviii<;,  but  these  casual- 
ties every  feeder  counts  on  ;  he  had 
been  lucky  on  the  whole.  He  had 
pold  about  eighty  sheep,  and  eati^n  a 
few,  but  not  many,  and  of  his  hun- 
dred pounds  only  five  pounds  were 
pone;  aj^ainst  which  and  the  decline 
in  cows  were  to  be  placed  the  calves 
and  lambs. 

George  considered  himself  eighty 
pounds  richer  in  su!)Sfance  than  six 
months  ago.  It  so  happened  that  on 
every  side  of  George  but  one  were 
nomades,  shepherd- kings,  —  fellows 
with  a  thousand  head  of  horned  cat- 
tle, and  sheep  like  white  pcbl)les  by 
the  sea;  but  on  his  right  hand  was 
another  small  bucolical,  a  Scotchman, 
wlio  h;id  started  with  less  means  than 
himself,  and  was  slowly  working  his 
wav,  making  a  halfpenny  and  saving 
a  penny,  after  the  manner  of  his  na- 
tion. These  two  were  mighty  dis- 
similar, but  they  were  on  a  level  as  to 
means,  and  near  neighbors,  and  that 
drew  them  together.  In  particular 
they  used  to  pay  each  other  friendly 
visits  on  Sunday  evenings,  and 
IM'Laughlan  woulil  reail  a  good 
book  to  George,  for  he  was  strict  in 
his  ohse'vances ;  but  after  that  the 
pnir  would  argue  points  of  liusbaii- 
dry. 

But  one  Sunday  that  George,  ad- 
miring his  stock,  inadvertently  })ro- 
posed  to  him  au  exchange  of  certain 


animals,  he  rebuked  the  young  man 
with  awful  gravity. 

"  Is  thir  a  day  for  warldly  deal- 
ings ?  "  said  he.  "  Hoo  div  ye  think 
to  thrive  gicn  y'  offer  your  mairchan- 
deeze  o'  the  Sahba  day  !  "  George 
colored  up  to  tiie  eyes.  "  Ye  '11  may- 
be no  hae  read  the  paurable  o'  the 
money  changers  i'  the  temple,  no  for- 
gettin  a  wheen  waridly-mindedchields 
that  sell't  doos,  when  they  had  Uiair 
need  to  be  on  their  knees,  —  or 
hearkening  a  religious  discoorse,  —  or 
a  hit.psaum, — or  the  like.  Aweel, 
ye  need  na  hong  your  heed  yon  gate, 
neether.  Ye  had  na  the  privileege  of 
being  born  in  Seoeilaud  ye  ken,  —  or 
nae  doot  ye 'd  hae  kenned  better,  for 
ye  are  a  decent  lad, — deed  are  ye. 
Aweel,  stap  ben  led,  and  I  'se  let  ye  see 
a  drap  whiskey.  The  like  does  na  af- 
ten  gang  doon  an  Englishman's 
thrapple." 

"  Whiskey  ?  Well,  but  it  seems  to 
me  if  we  did  n't  ought  to  deal  we 
did  n't  ought  to  drink." 

"  Hout !  tout !  it  is  no  forbedden 
to  taste,  —  thaat  's  nae  sen  that  ever  I 
heerd  't  —  C-way." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

George  heard  of  a  fiirmer  who  was 
selling  off  his  sheep  about  fifty  miles 
off,  near  the  coast.  George  put  mon- 
ey in  his  purse,  rose  at  three,  and 
walked  the  fifty  miles  with  Carlo  that 
day.  The  next  he  chaffered  with  the 
farmer,  but  they  did  not  quite  agree. 
George  was  vexed,  but  he  knew  it 
would  not  do  to  show  it,  so  he  strolled 
away  carelessly  towards  the  water. 
In  this  place  the  sea  comes  several 
miles  inland,  not  in  one  sheet,  but 
in  a  series  of  salt-water  lakes  very 
pretty. 

George  stood  and  admired  the  wa- 
ter, and  the  native  blacks  jiaddling 
aloUiT  in  boats  of  bark  no  bi'.'ger  thnn 
a  cocked  hat.  Tliese  strips  of  bark 
are  good  lor  carriage,  and  bad  for 
carriage  ;  I  mean  they  are  very  easily 


"  IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MI^XD." 


217 


carried  on  a  man's  hack  asliore,  but 
thi-y  won't  carry  a  luaii  uii  the  water 
so  well,  and  sittin.ii:  in  tlu-m  i>  like  I)al- 
ancinu-  on  a  straw.  Tiiese  a!)sunl 
vehicles  have  come  down  to  these 
h!o -kheads  from  their  fathers,  so  they 
won't  hum  them  and  huihl  aceordiiii^ 
to  reason.  They  commonly  paddle 
in  companies  of  three  ;  so  then.wlien- 
ever  one  is  purled,  the  other  two  come 
on  eaeh  side  of  him,  each  takes  a 
hand,  and  with  amazing  skill  and 
(k-lieacy  they  reseat  him  in  his  cocked 
hat,  whieh  never  sinks,  — only  purls. 
S<v<ral  of  these  triads  passed  in  the 
middle  of  the  lake,  looking;  to  George 
like  inverted  capital  "  T's."  They 
went  a  tremendous  pace, — with  oc- 
casional stoppages  wlien  a  purl  oc- 
curred. 

Presently,  a  single  savage  appeared 
nearer  the  land,  and  George  could 
see  his  lithe,  sinewy  form,  and  the 
grace  and  rapidity  with  which  he 
nrged  his  gossamer  hark  along.  It 
was  like  a  hawk,  —  half  a  dozen  rap- 
id strokes  of  his  wings  and  then  a 
smooth  glide  for  ever  so  far. 

"  Our  savages  would  sit  on  the 
hlade  of  a  knife,  I  do  think,"  was 
George's  observation. 

Now  as  George  looked  and  admired 
blackee,  it  unfortunately  happened 
that  a  mosquito  flew  into  bhickee's 
nostrils,  which  wei^  much  larger  and 
more  inviting  —  to  a  gnat  —  than 
ours.  The  aboriginal  sneezed,  and 
over  went  the  ancestral  boat. 

The  next  moment  he  was  seen 
swimming  and  pushing  his  boat  before 
liim.  He  was  scarce  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  shore  when  all  of  a  sudden 
down  he  went.  George  was  fright- 
ened and  took  off  his  coat,  and  was 
unlacing  his  boots,  when  the  black 
came  up  again.  "0,  he  was  only 
larking,"  thought  George.  "  But  he 
has  left  his  boat,  —  and  why,  there  he 
goes  down  again !  "  The  savage 
made  a  dive  and  came  up  ten  yards 
nearer  the  shore,  but  he  kept  his  face 
parallel  to  it,  and  he  was  scarce  a 
moment  in  sight  before  he  dived 
again.  Then  a  horrible  suspicion 
10 


flashed  across  George,  —  "  There  is 
something  after  him  !  " 

This  soon  became  a  fearful  certain- 
tv.  Just  hefore  he  dived  next  time,  a 
dark  object  was  ])lainly  visil)!e  on  the 
water  close  behind  him.  George  was 
wild  with  fear  for  poor  blafkee.  He 
shouttd  at  the  monster,  he  shouted  and 
beckoned  to  the  swimmer;  and  last, 
snatching  up  a  stone,  he  ilarted  up 
a  little  bed  of  rock  elevated  al»out  a 
yard  above  the  shore.  The  next  dive 
the  black  came  up  within  thirty  yards 
of  this  very  place,  but  the  sliark  came 
at  him  the  next  moment.  He  dived 
again,  but  before  the  fish  followed  him 
George  threw  a  stone  with  great  pre- 
cision and  f)rce  at  him.  It  struck  the 
water  close  by  him,  as  he  turned  to  fol- 
low his  prey;  George  jumped  down 
and  got  several  more  stones,  and  held 
one  foot  advanced  and  his  arm  high  in 
air.  Up  came  the  savage  par. ting  for 
breath.  The  fish  made  a  dart,  George 
threw  a  stone ;  it  struek  him  with 
such  fury  on  the  shoulders,  that  it 
span  off  into  the  air  and  fell  into  the 
sea  forty  yards  off.  Down  went  the 
man,  and  the  fish  after  him.  The 
next  time  they  came  up,  to  George's 
dismay,  the  sea-tiger  showed  no  signs 
of  being  hurt,  and  the  man  was  great- 
ly distressed.  The  moment  he  was 
above  water  George  heard  bim  sob, 
and  saw  tlie  whites  of  his  eyes,  as  he 
rolled  them  despairingly  ;  and  he 
could  not  dive  again  for  \vant  of 
breath.  Seeing  this,  the  shark  turned 
on  his  back,  and  catue  at  him  with  his 
white  belly  visible  and  bis  treble  row 
of  teeth  glistening  in  a  mouth  like  a 
red  grave. 

Rage  as  well  as  fear  seized  George 
Fielding;  the  muscles  started  on  his 
l)rawny  arm  as  he  held  it  aloft  with  a 
heavy  stone  in  it.  The  black  was  so 
hard'  pressed  the  last  time,  and  so 
dead  beat,  that  he  could  make  but  a 
short  duck  under  the  fish's  back  and 
come  out  at  his  tail.  The  shark  did 
not  follow  him  this  time,  but,  cunning 
as  well  as  ferocious,  slipped  a  yard  or 
two  in  shore,  and  waited  to  grab  him  ; 
not  seeing  him,  he  gave  a  slap  with 


218 


IT  IS  NEVKR  TOO  LATE  TO  MKXD. 


his  tail  fin,  and  roared  his  hu'j^e  head 
out  of  water  a  inomc'Jt  to  look  forth; 
tliL'ii  Gcor;4e  Fi-  Idintr,  .i;riiiding  his 
te^th  widi  fury,  Utiiiir  liis  liea\y  stoie 
with  tri-mendous  lorcu  at  tlic  cre-iture's 
criiL'l  eye.  The  heavy  stoiK-  missed 
the  eye  by  an  inch  or  two,  but  it 
struck,  tlie  tisli  o;i  the  nose  and  teeth 
with  a  force  that  would  have  felled  a 
huUock. 

'*Cnesh!"  went  the  sc  i  tij^er's 
flesh  and  teeth,  and  the  blood  squirted 
in  a  circle.  Down  went  the  shark 
like  a  lump  of  Ic.id,  literally  felled  by 
the  crashinir  stroke. 

"  I  've  hit  him  !  I  've  hit  him  !  " 
roared  George,  seizing  another  stone. 
"  Come  here,  quick  !  quick  !  before  he 
gets  the  better  of  it." 

The  black  swam  like  a  mad  thing 
to  George.  George  splashed  into  the 
water  up  to  his  knee,  and  taking 
blackee  under  the  armpits  tore  him 
out  of  the  water,  and  set  him  down 
high  and  dry. 

"  Give  us  your  hand  over  it,  old 
fellow,"  cried  George,  ]Kinting  and 
trembling.  "  O  dear,  my  heart  is  in 
my  month,  it  is  !  " 

The  black's  eyes  seemed  to  kindle 
a  little  at  George's  tire,  but  ail  the 
rest  of  him  was  as  cool  as  a  cucum- 
ber. He  let  George  shake  his  liaml, 
and  said,  quietly.  "  Thank  you,  sar  ! 
Jac-ky  thank  yoji  a  goo  I  deal !  "  lie 
added,  in  the  same  breatii,  '' suppose 
you  lend  me  a  knife,  then  we  eat  a 
good  deal." 

George  lent  him  his  knifi*,  and  to 
his  surprise  the  savage  slipped  into 
t!ie  water  ayrain.  llisoiijcct  was  soon 
revealed  ;  the  shark  h  i<l  com^^  up  to 
the  surfai-e  and  was  floariuir  motion- 
less. It  was  with  no  sraaii  trepida- 
tion George  saw  this  cool  liand  swim 
gently  behind  him  and  suddenly  iM<- 
appeir;  in  a  moment,  however,  liie 
water  was  red.  all  round,  and  the 
sliark  turned  round  on  his  belly. 
Jacky  swam  behind,  iind  pushed  liim 
ashore,  it  proved  to  be  a  young  lish 
about  six  feet  long ;  but  it  was  .-is 
much  as  the  men  could  do  to  lift  it. 
The  creature's  nose  was  battered,  and 


Jacky  showed  this  to  George,  and  let 
him  know  that  a  blow  on  that  part 
was  deadly  to  theui,  "  You  make 
him  dead  for  a  little  while,"  said  he, 
"  so  then  I  make  him  dead  enough  to 
eat";  and  he  showed  where  he  li;ui 
driven  the  knife  into  liiiu  iu  three 
places. 

Jaeky's  next  proieeding  was  to  get 
sonke  dry  siieks  and  wood,  and  pie- 
pare  a  fire,  which  to  George's  aston- 
ishment he  lighted  thus.  He  got  a 
block  of  wood,  ill  the  middle  of  whieli 
he  made  a  little  hole  ;  then  he  cut 
and  pointed  a  long  stick,  and,  insert- 
ing the  point  into  the  block,  worked 
it  round  between  his  palms  for  some 
time  and  with  increasing  rapidity. 
Presently  there  came  a  smell  of  burn- 
ing wood,  and  soon  after  it  bui>t  into 
a  flame  at  the  point  of  contact.  Jacky 
cut  slices  of  shark  and  toasted  them. 
"  Black  fellow  stupid  fellow,  —  eat 
'em  raw  ;  l)ut  I  eat  'em  burnt  like 
white  man." 

He   then  told  George  he  had  often 
been   at   Sydney,   and  could   *'  speak 
the   white    man's    language   a   good 
deal,"   and   must   on    no  account  be 
confinmded  with  common    b!ack   fel- 
lows      He   illu-trated   his  civilization 
by  eatiuLT  the  shark  as  it  cooked  ;  that 
j  is  to  s.iy,  as  soon   as  the  surface  was 
^  brown   he  gnawed  it  oflT,  aTid  put  the 
;  rest  <io\vn  ro  brown  airain,  and  so  are 
a  series  of  lamime  mstead  of  a  steak  ; 
that  it  woud  be  cooked  to  the  centre 
if  he  let  it  alone  was  a  f  ict  this  gen- 
I  tl<  m  in  had    never   tli.scovered  ;  prob- 
!  ably  had  never  had  the  piitience  to 
!  discover. 

George,  finding  the  shark's  flesh  de- 
testable, <iecliiie<l  it  and  watched  tho 
other.  Presently  he  vented  his  re- 
flections. "  Well,  you  are  a  cool 
one !  half  an  liour  aiio  I  did  n't  ex- 
pi'Ct  to  see  you  eating  him,  —  quire 
the  contrary."  Jacky  grinned  good- 
humoredly  in  reply. 

When  George  returned  to  the 
1  fiirmer.  the  latter,  who  hid  begun  to 
I  fear  tfie  loss  of  a  customer,  came  at 
'.  once  to  terms  with  him.  The  next 
1  day  he  started  for  home  with  three 


"  IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


219 


hundred  sheep.  Jacky  announced 
that  he  should  accomjjany  liim,  and 
lielp  him  a  yood  deal.  George's  con- 
sent \\;is  not  given,  simply  hLcause  it 
was  not  a?k.L'd.  However,  having 
saved  the  man's  life,  he  was  not  sorry 
to  see  a  little  more  of  him. 

It  is  usual  in  works  of  this  kind  to 
give  minute  descripiions  of  people's 
dress.  1  fear  I  have  often  violated 
this  rule.  However,  I  will  not  in 
this  case. 

Jacky's  dress  consisted  of,  in  front, 
a  sort  of  purse  made  of  rat-skin  ;  he- 
hind,  a  hran-new  tomahawk  and  two 
spears. 

George  fancied  this  costume  might 
be  improved  upon  ;  he  therefore 
bought  from  the  farmer  a  socond- 
haud  coat  and  trousers,  and  his  new 
friend  donned  them  with  grinning 
satisfaction.  The  farmer's  wife  pit- 
ied George,  living  l)y  himself  out 
there,  and  s!ie  jiave  him  several  little 
luxuries  ;  a  bacon-ham,  some  tea,  and 
some  orange  marmalade,  and  a  little 
lump-sugar,  and  some  potatoes. 

He  gave  the  potatoes  to  Jacky  to 
carry.  They  weighed  but  a  few 
pounds.  George  himself  carried 
about  a  quarter  of  a  hundred-weight. 
For  all  that  the  potatoes  worried 
Jacky  more  than  George's  burden 
him.  At  last  he  loitered  behind  so. 
long  that  George  sat  down  and  light- 
ed his  pipe.  Presently  up  comes  Ni- 
ger witli  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  hang- 
inir  on  each  side  of  his  neck,  and  the 
potatoes  in  them.  My  lord  had  taken 
ids  tomahawk  and  chopjied  off  the 
si -eves  at  the  armpit ;  then  he  had 
s.'Wed  up  their  bottoms  and  made 
bags  of  them,  uniting  them  at  the 
other  end  by  a  string,  which  rested 
on  the  l)ack  of  his  neek  like  a  nnlk- 
niaid's  balance.  Being  a^ked  what 
he  had  done  with  the  r-st  of  the  coat, 
he  told  George  he  had  thrown  it  away 
because  it  was  a  good  deal  hot. 

"But  it  won't  be  hot  at  night,  and 
then  you  will  wi-h  yon  had  n't  been 
such  a  fool,"  said  Ge.irge,  ir.ire. 

No,  he  could  n't  make  Jacky  see 
this ;    being  hot  at  the   time,  jacky 


I  could  not  feel  the  cold  to  come. 
Jacky  became  a  hanger-on  of  George, 
and,  if  he  did  little,  he  cost  little  ;  and, 
,  if  a  beast  strayed,  he  was  invaluable  ; 
j  lie  could  follow  the  creature  for  miles 
I  by  a  chain  of  physical  evidence  no 
I  single  link  of  which  a  civilized  man 
;  would  have  seen. 

!      A   quantity  of  rain  having   fallen, 
and     tilled    all     the    pools,    George 
thought  he  would  close  with  an  offer 
that  had  been  made  him,  and  swap 
one  hundred  and  fifty  sheci*  for  cows 
j  and  bullocks.     He  mentioned  tiiis  in- 
.  lemion    to  M'Laughlan  one  Sunday 
I  eveniuir.      M'Laughlan    warmly    ap- 
j  ])roved    his   intention.     George   then 
Avcnt  on   to  name  the  customer  who 
was  dis}josed  to  make  the  exchange 
in     question.       At     this    the    worthy 
M'Laughlan  showed  some  little  unea- 
siness, and  told  George  he  might  do 
j  better  than  deal  with  that  jier-on. 

George  said  he  should  be  glad  to 
do  better,  but  did  not  .s;ee  how. 

'•  Humph  !  "  said  M'Laugiilan,  and 
fidgeted. 

M'Laughlan  then  invited  George  to 
a  glass  of  grog,  and  while  tluy  were 
sipjiing  he  gave  an  order  to  hi^  man. 
M'Laughlan  intpiired  when  the 
piO|io<ed  negotiation  was  likely  to 
take  place.  "  To-monow  raondng," 
said  ^eorge.  "He  asked  me  to  go 
.overnltont  it  this  afternoon,  but  I  re- 
mendjcrcd  the  les>on  you  gave  me 
al)Out  making  bargains  on  this  day, 
and  I  said,  '  To-morrow,  farmer.'  " 

"  Y're  a  guid  lad,"  said  the  Scot, 
demurely ;  "  y're  just  as  decent  a  body 
as  ever  1  forirathered  wi'  —  and  I  'm. 
I  thinking  it 's  a  sin  to  let  ye  gang  twal 
I  miles  for  mairchandeeze  whan  ye  can 
i  hae  it  a  hantle  cheaper  at  your  ain 
'  door  " 

"  Can  I  ?  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean."  —  "Ye  dinna  ken  what  I 
mean  ?     Mavbe  no." 

Mr.  M'Lauirhlan  fell  into  thought 
awhile,  and,  the  grog  being  finished, 
h  •  projKJsed  a  stroll.  He  took  George 
out  into  the  yard,  and  there  the  first 
thing  they  saw  was  a  score  and  a  half 
of  bullocks  that  had  just  been  driven 


220 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


into  a  circle,  and  were-  maintained 
tliL'ie  hy  two  men  an(i<»tvo  dogs. 

George's  eye  ^.brightened  at  the 
siglit,  .iind,  'his  host  watched  it. 
"  Aweel,''  said  he,  "  has  Tamson  a 
boiniicr  lot  than  yon  to  gic  ye  ?  "  — 
"  I  don't  know,"  said  George,  dryly, 
"  I  have  not  seen  his." 

"  But  I  h:ie,  and  ho  hasna  a  lot  to 
even  wi'  them."  —  "I  shall  know  to- 
morrow," said  George.  But  he  eyed 
INl'Laughlan's  cattle  with  an  expres- 
sion there  was  no  mistaking. 

"  Aweel,"  said  the  worthy  Scot, 
"  ye  're  a  neebor  and  a  decent  hid  ye 
are  ;  sae  I  '11  just  speer  ye  ane  ques- 
tion. Noo,  mon,"  continued  he,  in  a 
most  mellifluous  tone  and  pausing  at 
every  word,  "gien  it  were  JNIonday, 
—  as  it  istlie  Sabl)a  day,  —  hoo  mony 
sheep  wud  ye  gie  for  yon  bonnie 
beasties  ?  " 

George,  finding  his  friend  in  this 
mind,  pretended  to  hang  back  and  to 
consider  himself  bound  to  treat  with 
Tliomson  firxt.  The  result  of  all  which 
w;is  that  M'Laughlan  came  over  to 
liim  at  daybreak  and  Geoige  made  a 
very  profitable  exchange  with  him. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  more 
Georire  found  himself  twice  as  rich 
in  substance  as  at  first  starting  ;  but 
instead  of  one  hundred  pound  cash 
he  had  but  eighty.  Still,  if  sold  up, 
he  would  have  fetched  five  hundred 
pounds.  But  more  than  a  year  was 
gone  since  he  began  on  his  own  ac- 
count. "  Well,"  said  George,  "  I 
must  be  patient  and  still  keep  doub- 
hng  on,  and,  if  I  do  as  well  next 
year  as  last,  I  shall  be  worth  eight 
hundred  pounds." 

A  month's  dry,  hot  weather  came, 
and  George  had  ard  nous  work  to  take 
water  to  his  bullocks  and  to  drive 
them  in  frum  long  distances  to  his 
liomestcad,  where,  by  digging  enor- 
mous tanks,  he  had  secured  a  constant 
supply.  No  man  ever  worked  for  a 
musrer  as  this  rustic  Hercules  worked 
for  Susan  jMerton.  Fnulent  George 
sold  twenty  bullocks  and  cows  to  the 
first  bidder.  "  I  can  buy  again  at  a 
better  time,"  argued  he. 


lie  had  now  one  hundred  and 
twenty -five  pounds  in  hand.  The 
drought  continued,  and  he  wished  he 
had  sold  more. 

One  morning  Abner  came  hasti- 
ly in  and  told  him  that  nearly  all 
the  beasts  and  cows  were  missing. 
George  flung  himself  on  his  horse 
and  galloped  to  the  end  of  his  run. 
No  signs  of  them,  —  returning  dis- 
consolate, he  took  Jacky  on  his  crup- 
per and  went  over  the  ground  with 
him.  Jacky's  eyes  were  playing  and 
sparkling  all  the  time  in  search  of 
signs.  Nothing  clear  was  discovered. 
Then,  at  Jacky's  request,  they  rode 
oif  George's  feeding-ground  altogeth- 
er, and  made  for  a  little  wood  about 
two  miles  distant.  "  Suppose  you 
stop  here,  I  go  in  the  bush,"  said 
Jacky. 

George  sat  down  and  waited.  In 
about  two  hours  Jacky  came  back. 
"  I  've  found  'em,"  said  Jacky,  cool- 

George  rose  m  great  excitement 
and  followed  Jacky  through  the  stilf 
bush,  often  scratching  his  hands  and 
face.  At  last  Jacky  stopped  and 
pointal  to  the  ground,  "  There  !  "  — 
''  There  ?  ye  foolish  creature,"  cried 
George ;  "  that 's  ashes  where  some- 
body has  lighted  a  fire  ;  that  and  a 
bone  or  two  is  all  I  see."" 

"  Beef  bone,"  replied  Jacky,  cool- 
ly. George  started  with  horror. 
"  Black  fellow  burn  beef  here  and 
eat  him.  Black  fellow  a  great  tliief. 
Black  fellow  take  all  your  beef.  Now 
we  catch  black  fellow  and  shoot  him, 
suppose  he  not  tell  us  where  the  other 
beef  gone." 

"But  how   am   I  to    catch    him? 


H( 


am    I  even   to   find  hi 


"  You  wait  till  the  sun  so  ;  then 
black  fellow  burn  more  beef.  Then  I 
see  the  smoke ;  then  I  catch  him. 
You  go  fetch  the  make-thunder  with 
two  mouths.  When  he  see  him  that 
make  him  hone>t  a  good  deal." 

Ofl^"  galloped  (leorge.  and  returned 
with  his  double-b;\rrelled  gun  in  about 
an  hour  and  a  half.  He  found  Jacky 
where  he  had  left  him  at  the  foot  of 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


221 


a  gum-tree,  tall  and  smooth  as  an 
admiral's  main-mast. 

Jacky,  who  was  coiled  up  in  liappy 
repose  like  a  dog-  in  warm  weather, 
rose,  and,  with  a  slijxht  yawn,  said, 
"  Now  I  u:o  up  and  look." 

He  made  two  sharp  cuts  on  the  tree 
with  his  tomahawk,  and,  putting  his 
great  toe  in  the  nick,  rose  on  it,  made 
another  nick  higher  up,  and  holding 
the  smootli  stem  put  his  other  great 
toe  in  it,  and  so  on  till  in  an  incredi- 
bly short  time  he  had  reached  the  top 
and  left  a  staircase  of  his  own  making 
behind  him.  He  had  hardly  reached 
the  top  when  he  slid  down  to  the 
bottom  again,  and  announced  that  he 
had  discovered  what  they  were  in 
search  of. 

George  haltered  the  pony  to  the 
tree  and  followed  Jacky,  who  struck 
farther  into  the  wood.  After  a  most 
disagreeable  scramble,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  wood  Jacky  stopped  and 
put  his  finger  to  his  lips.  They  both 
went  cautiously  out  of  the  wood,  and 
mounting  a  bank  that  lay  under  its 
shelter  they  came  plump  upon  a  little 
party  of  blacks,  four  male  and  three 
female.  The  women  were  seated 
round  a  fire  burning  beef  and  gnaw- 
ing the  outside  laminae,  then  putting  it 
down  to  the  fire  again.  The  men, 
who  always  serve  themselves  first, 
were  lying  gorged ;  but  at  sight  of 
George  and  Jacky  they  were  on  their 
feet  in  a  moment  and  their  spears 
poised  in  their  hands. 

Jacky  walked  down  the  bank  and 
poured  a  volley  of  abuse  into  them. 
Between  two  of  his  native  sentences 
he  uttered  a  quiet  aside  to  George, 
"  Suppose  black  fellow  lift  spear,  you 
shoot  him  dead,"  and  then  abused 
them  like  pickpockets  again,  and 
pointed  to  the  make-thunder  with  two 
mouths  in  George's  band. 

After  a  severe  cackle  on  both  sides, 
the  voices  began  to  calm  down  like 
water  going  off  the  boil,  and  presently 
soft,  low  gutturals  passed  in  pleasant 
modulation.  Then  the  eldest  male  sav- 
age made  a  courteous  signal  to  Jacky 
that  he  should  sit  down  and  gnaw. 


Jacky  on  tnis  .administered  three  kicks 
among  the  jJ^ipas.*  and  sent  them  fly- 
ing, then  dowfl^j^tHiand  had  a  gnaw  ^^ 
at  their  beef,  —  <^^^y?g  hr'^i  ^  "^"t 
The  rage  of  hunger  appeaSWJ,  h(5  "rose, 
and  with  the  male  savages  took  the 
open  country.  On  the  way  he  let 
George  know  that  these  bhick  fellows 
were  of  his  tribe,  that  they  had  driven 
otf  the  cattle,  and  that  lie  had  insisted 
on  restitution,  —  which  was  about  to 
be  made ;  and,  sure  enough,  before 
they  had  gone-  a  mile,  they  saw  some 
beasts  grazing  in  a  narrow  valley. 
George  gave  a  shout  of  joy,  but  count- 
ing them  he  found  fifteen  short. 
When  Jacky  inquired  after  the  others, 
the  blacks  shrugged  their  shoulders. 
They  knew  nothing  more  than  this, 
that  wanting  a  dinner  they  had  driven 
off  forty  bullocks;  but,  finding  they 
could  only  eat  one  that  day,  they  had 
killed  one  and  left  the  others,  of  whom 
some  were  in  the  place  they  had  left 
them  ;  the  rest  were  somewhere,  they 
did  n't  know  where,  —  far  less  care. 
They  had  dined,  that  was  enough  for 
them. 

When  this  characteristic  answer 
reached  George,  he  clenched  his  teeth 
and  for  a  moment  felt  an  impulse  to 
make  a  little  thunder  on  their  slippery 
black  carcasses,  but  he  groaned  instead 
and  said,  "  They  were  never  taught 
any  better." 

Then  Jacky  and  he  set  to  work  to 
drive  the  cattle  together.  With  infi- 
nite difficulty  they  got  them  all  home 
by  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night. 
The  next  day  up  with  the  sun  to  find 
the  rest.  Two  o'clock,  and  only  one 
had  they  fallen  in  with,  and  the  sun 
broiled  so  that  lazy  Jacky  gave  in 
and  crept  in  under  the  beast  for  shade, 
and  George  was  fiiin  to  sit  on  his 
shady  side  with  moody  brow  and  sor- 
rowful heart. 

Presently  Jacky  got  up.  **  I  find 
one,"  said  he. 

"  Where  ?  where  ?  "  cried  George, 
looking  all  round.  Jacky  pointed  to 
a  rising  ground  at  least  six  miles  off. 

George  groaned :  "Are  you  making 

*  yvvai. 


222 


"IT   IS   Ki:VER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


n  fool  of  me?  I  can  see  notliing  but 
ft  Ijuiren  liill  with  ii  few  j^reat  bushes 
liere  and  there.  You  are  never  taking 
those  !)ushcs  for  beasts  ?  " 

Jacky  smiled  with  utter  scorn. 
"White  fellow  stupid  fellow;  he  see 
nothinjr." 

"  Well  and  what  does  black  fellow 
see  ?  "  snapped  Geor;^e.  —  "  Black  fel- 
low sec  a  crow  cominfj;  from  the  sun, 
and  when  became  over  there  he  turned 
and  went  down  and  not  jxet  up  again 
a  good  while.  Then  black  fellow  say, 
'  I  tink.'  Presently  come  flying  one 
more  crow  from  that  other  side  where 
the  sun  is  not.  Black  fellow  watch 
him,  and  when  he  come  over  there  he 
turn  round  and  go  down  too,  and  not 
get  up  a  good  while.  Tlion  black 
fellow  say,  'I  know.'"  —  "  O,  come 
along!"  cried  George. 

They  hurried  on  ;  but,  when  they 
came  to  the  rising  ground  and  bush- 
es, Jacky  put  his  finger  to  his  lips. 
"  Suppose  we  catch  the  black  fellows 
that  have  got  wings ;  you  make  thun- 
der for  them  1 " 

He  read  the  answer  in  George's  eye. 
Then  he  took  George  round  the  back 
of  the  hill  and  they  mounted  the  crest 
from  the  reverse  side.  They  came  over 
it,  and  there  at  their  very  feet  lay  one 
of  George's  best  bullocks,  with  tongue 
protruded,  breathing  his  last  gasp. 
A  crow  of  the  country  was  penhed 
on  his  ribs,  digging  iiis  thick  beak 
into  a  hole  he  had  njade  in  his  ribs, 
and  anotlier  was  picking  out  one  of 
his  eyes.  The  birds  rose  heavily, 
clogged  and  swelling  with  gore. 
George's  eyes  flashed,  his  gun  went 
np  to  his  shoulder,  and  Jacky  saw  the 
brown  barrel  rise  slowly  for  a  moment 
as  it  followed  the  nearest  bird  wob- 
bling olf  with  broad  back  invitinjrly 
displayed  to  the  inark>man  :  l)ang ! 
the  wliolc  char^'e  shivered  the  ill- 
omened  jzlution,  who  instantly  dropped 
riddled  with  shot  like  a  sieve,  while  a 
cloud  of  dusky  feathers  ro.-;e  from  him 
into  the  air.  The  other,  liearing  the 
earthly  thunder  and  Jacky 's  exulting 
whoop,  gave  a  sudden  whirl  witli  his 
long  wing  and  shot  up  into  the  air  at 


an  angle  and  made  off  with  great  ve- 
locity ;  but  the  second  barrel  followed 
him  as  he  turned,  anil  followed  him  as 
he  flew  down  the  wind  :  bang  !  out 
flew  two  handfuls  of  dusky  feathers, 
and  glutton  No.  2  died  in  the  air,  and 
its  carcass  and  expanded  wings  went 
whirling  like  a  sheet  of  paper  and  fell 
on  the  top  of  a  bu>h  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill. 

All  this  delighted  the  devil-may-care 
Jacky,  but  it  may  be  sujipos -d  it  was 
small  consolation  to  Get)r':e.  He 
went  up  to  the  poor  l)east,  who  died 
even  as  he  looked  down  on  him. 
•  "  Drought,  Jacky  !  drouirht !  "  said 
he.  "  It  is  .\lo>es,  the  lust  of  the 
herd.  O  Moses,  why  could  n't  you 
stay  beside  me  ?  I  "m  sure  I  never  l>t 
you  watit  for  water,  atid  never  would, 
—  you  left  me  to  rind  woi-se  friemls  !  " 
and  so  the  poor  simple  fellow  mo.med 
over  the  unlbrtunate  creatuiv,  and  so 
gently  reproached  him  for  his  want 
of  confidence  in  him  that  it  was  piti- 
ful. Then  suddenly  turning  on  Jacky 
he  said,  gravely,  "  Moses  won't  be  the 
only  one,  I  doubt." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his 
moutli  before  a  loud  moo  proclaimed 
the  vicinity  of  cattle.  They  ran 
towards  the  sound,  and  in  a  rocky 
hollow  they  found  nine  bullocks,  and 
alas!  at  sonv  little  distance  another 
lay  dead.  Those  that  were  alive 
were  paniing  with  lolling  tongues  in 
the  broiling  sun.  How  to  save  them  ; 
how  to  get  them  home  a  distance  of 
eight  miles.  "  0  for  a  drop  of 
water."  The  poor  fools  had  strayed 
into  the  most  arid  region  for  miles 
round. 

Instinct  makes  blunders  as  welj  as 
reason.  —  B:  stiah  est  enure. 

"  We  must  drive  them  from  this, 
Jacky,  though  half  of  them  die  by  the 
way." 

The  languid  brutes  made  no  active 
resistance.  Being  goaded  and  beaien, 
they  got  on  their  legs  and  moved 
feebly  away. 

Three  miles  the  men  drove  them, 
and  then  one  who  had  been  already 
staggering  more  than  the  rest  gave  in, 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


223 


and  lay  down,  and  no  power  could 
jrt't  him  up  airain.  Jacky  advised  to 
leave  him.  Uoorue  made  a  R-w  stops 
onward  with  the  otlier  eattle,  hut  then 
he  sit()i)|)e(l  and  eame  baek  to  the  suf- 
fcivr  and  sat  down  beside  hhn  discon- 
solate. 

"  I  can't  hear  to  desert  a  |)Oordumb 
creature.  He  can't  speak,  Jacky,  but 
look  at  his  poor  t'rii^htened  eye;  it 
st'LMus  to  say,  Have  you  <iot  the  heart 
to  '^o  on  and  leave  rue  to  die  for  the 
want  of  a  drop  of  water?  O  Jacky, 
you  that  is  so  clever  in  reading  the 
signs  of  Nature,  have  piryon  the  ])Oor 
tiling,  and  do  pray  try  and  find  us  a 
drop  of  water.  1  'd  run  five  miles 
and  fetch  it  in  my  hat  if  you  would 
but  find  it.  Do  help  u>,  Jacky  "  ;  and 
the  white  man  looked  helplessly  up  to 
the  black  savage,  who  had  learned  to 
read  tlie  small  type  of  Nature's  book, 
iuid  he  had  not. 

Jacky  hung  his  head.  "White 
fellow's  eyes  always  shut;  black  fel- 
low's always  open.  We  pass  here  be- 
fore, and  Jac  ky  look  for  water,  —  look 
for  everything.  No  water  here.  But," 
said  he,  languidly,  "  Jacky  will  go  up 
high  tree  and  look  a  good  deal." 

Selecting  the  highest  tree  near,  he 
chopped  a  staircase  and  went  up  it  al- 
most as  quickly  as  a  bricklayer  mounts 
a  ladder  wirh  a  hod.  At  the  top  he 
crossed  his  thiirhs  over  the  stem,  and 
tliere  he  sat  full  half  an  hour;  his  glit- 
tering: eye  reading  the  confused  page, 
and  his  subtle  mind  picking  out  the 
minutest  syllables  of  meaning.  Sev- 
eral times  he  shook  his  head.  At  last 
all  of  a  sudden  he  gave  a  little  start, 
and  then  a  ehuckle,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  was  on  the  ground. 

"  What  is  it '  "  —  "  Black  fellow 
stupid  fellow,  —  look  too  far  off"  ;  and 
he  lau^ihed  again,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  jackdaw. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  —  "A  little  water, 
not  mucli." 

"  AVhere  is  it  ?  Where  is  it  ?  Why 
don't  you  tell  me  where  it  is  1  "  — 
"  Come,"  was  the  answer. 

Not  forty  yards  from  where  they 
stood  Jacky  stooped,  and  thrusting , 


his  hand  into  a  tuft  of  long  grass 
pulled  out  a  short  blue  flower  with  a 
very  thick  stem.  "  Saw  him  sjiark 
from  the  top  of  tlic  tree,"  said  Jacky, 
with  a  grin.  "  This  fellow  stand  with 
him  head  in  the  air,  but  iiim  foot  in 
the  water.  Suppose  no  water,  he  die 
a  good  deal  cpiiek."  'J'hen  taking- 
George's  hand  he  made  him  press  the 
grass  hard,  and  George  felt  moisture 
ooze  through  the  herb. 

"  Yes,  my  hand  is  wet;  but,  Jacky, 
this  drop  won't  save  a  beast's  liie, 
without  it  is  a  frog's." 

Jacky  smiled  and  rose.  "  Where 
that  wet  came  from  more  stay  be- 
hind." 

He  pointed  to  other  patches  of  grass 
close  by,  and  ibllowing  them  showed 
George  that  they  got  larger  and  larger 
in  a  certain  direction.  At  last  he 
came  to  a  hidden  nook,  where  was  a 
great  patch  of  grass  quite  a  different 
color,  green  as  an  emerald.  "  Water," 
cried  Jacky,  '•  a  good  deal  of  water." 

He  took  a  jump  and  came  down 
flat  on  his  back  on  the  grass,  and 
sure  enough,  though  not  a  drop  of 
surface  water  was  visible,  the  cool 
liquid  squirted  up  in  a  shower  round 
Jacky. 

Nature  is  extremely  fond  of  pro- 
ducing the  same  tilings  in  xerv  diti'er- 
ent  sizes.  Here  was  a  miniature  copy 
of  those  large  Australian  lakes  which 
show  nothing  to  the  eye  but  rank 
grass.  You  ride  upon  them  a  little 
way,  merely  wetting  your  horse's  feet, 
but  after  a  while  the  sponge  gets  fuller 
and  fuller,  and  the  grass  shows  symp- 
toms of  giving  way,  and  letting  you 
down  to  "  bottomless  perdition." 

They  squeezed  out  of  this  grass 
sponge  a  calabusli  full  of  water,  and 
George  ran  with  it  to  the  panting 
bea^^t.  O,  how  he  sucked  it  up,  and 
his  wild  eye  calmed,  and  the  liquid 
life  ran  tlu-ouuh  all  his  frame  ! 

It  was  hardly  in  his  stonnich  before 
he  got  up  of  his  own  accord,  and  gave 
a  most  sonorous  moo,  intended  no 
doubt  to  express  the  sentiment  of 
"  never  say  die." 

George  drove  them  all  to  the  grassy 


224 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


sponge,  and  kept  them  there  till  sun- 
set. He  was  three  hours  squeeziuf^ 
out  water  and  <j:ivin<^  it  them  before 
they  were  satisfied.  Then  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening  he  drove  them  safe 
iiome. 

The  next  day  one  more  of  his 
strayed  cattle  found  his  way  home. 
The  rest  he  never  saw  again.  This 
was  Iiis  first  dead  loss  of  any  impor- 
tance :  unfortunately  it  was  not  the 
last. 

The  brutes  were  demoralized  by 
their  excursion,  and,  being  active  as 
deer,  they  would  jump  over  anything 
and  stray.  Soniitiines  the  vagrant 
was  recovered,  ofren  he  was  found 
dead  ;  and  som.'tiines  lie  went  twenry 
miles  and  mingled  with  the  huge 
herds  of  some  CJroesus,  and  was  ab- 
sorbed like  a  drop  of  water  and  lo>t  to 
George  Fielding.  This  was  a  bitter 
blow.  This  was  not  the  way  to  make 
the  thousand  jjounds. 

"  Better  sell  them  all  to  the  first 
comer,  and  tlien  1  shall  see  the  end  of 
my  loss,  I  am  not  one  of  your  lucky 
ones.     I  must  not  venture." 

A  settler  passed  George's  way, 
driving  a  large  herd  of  sheep  and 
ten  cows.  George  gave  him  a  dinner 
and  looked  over  liis  stock.  "  You 
have  but  few  beasts  for  so  many 
sheep,"  said  he. 

The  other  assented. 

"  I  could  part  wiih  a  few  of  mine 
to  you  if  you  were  so  minded." 

The  other  said  he  should  be  very 
glad,  but  he  had  no  money  to  spare. 
Would  George  take  sheep  in  ex- 
change ?  " 

"  Well,"  drawled  George,  "  I  would 
rather  it  had  been  cash,  but  such  as 
you  and  I  must  not  make  the  road 
hard  to  one  another.  Sheep  I  '11 
take,  but  full  value." 

The  otiier  was  d  'lighted,  and  near- 
ly all  George's  bullocks  became  his 
for  one  hundred  and  fifty  sheep. 

George  was  proud  of  his  bargain, 
and  saiil  :  "  That  is  a  good  thing  for 
you  and  me,  Susan,  please  God" 

Now  the  next  morning  Abner 
came  in  and  said  to  George,  "  I  don't 


like  some  of  your  new  lot,  —  the  last 
that  are  marked  witii  a  red   l'." 

"  Why  what  is  wrong  about 
them  ?  "  —  "  Come  and  sec." 

He  found  more  than  one  of  the 
new  sheep  rubbing  themselves  angriiy 
against  the  pen,  and  sometimes  among 
one  another. 

"  O  dear !  "  said  George,  "  I  liavo 
prayed  against  this  on  my  knees  cxcry 
night  of  my  life,  and  it  has  come  up- 
on me  at  last.  Sharpen  your  knife, 
Abner." 

"  What !  must  they  all  —  ?  "  —"'All 
the  new  lot.  Call  Jacky,  he  will  help 
you  ;  he  likes  to  see  blood.  I  can't 
abide  it.  One  hundred  and  fifty 
sheep  !  eighteen  -  penn'orth  of  wool, 
and  eiizhteen-pL-nu'orth  of  fat  when  we 
fling  'em  into  the  pot,  —  that  is  all 
that  is  left  to  me  of  yesterday's  deal." 

Jacky  was  called,  "  Now,  Jacky," 
said  George,  "  these  sheep  have  got 
the  scab  of  tlie  country  ;  if  they  get  to 
5ny  flock  and  taint  it,  I  am  a  beggar 
from  that  moment.  These  siieep  are 
sure  to  die,  so  Abner  and  you  are  to 
kill  them.  He  will  show  you  how. 
I  can't  look  on  and  see  their  blood 
and  my  means  spilled  like  water. 
Susan,  this  is  a  black  day  for  us  !  " 

He  went  away  and  sat  down  upon 
a  stone  a  good  way  off,  and  turned 
his  back  upon  his  house  and  his  little 
homestead.  This  was  not  the  way  to 
make  the  thousand  pounds. 

The  next  day  the  dead  sheep  were 
skinned  and  their  bodies  chopped  up 
and  flung  into  the  copper.  The 
grease  Avas  skimmed  as  it  rose,  and 
set  aside,  and  when  cool  was  put  into 
rough  barrels  with  some  salt  and  kept 
up  until  such  time  as  a  merchant 
should  pass  that  way  and  buy  it. 

"  Well,"  said  GeorL^e,  with  a  siirh, 
"  I  know  my  loss.  But,  if  the  red 
scab  had  got  into  the  larire  herd, 
there  would  have  been  no  end  to  the 
misehief." 

Soon  afrer  this  a  small  feeder  at 
some  distance  offered  to  ehan<:e  with 
M'Laughlan.  That  worthy  liked  his 
own  ".'round  best,  but  willing  to  do 
his   friend   George   a  good   turn    he 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


225 


-turned  the  man  over  to  him.  George 
examined  the  new  phice,  found  that  it 
was  smaller  but  richer  and  better 
watered,  and  very  wisely  closed  with 
the  proposal. 

When  he  told  Jacky,  that  worthy's 
eyes  sparkled.  "  Black  fellow  likes 
another  place.  Not  every  day  the 
same." 

And,  in  fact,  he  let  out  that,  if  this 
chan-ge  had  not  occurred,  his  intention 
had  been  to  go  a  hunting  for  a  month 
or  two,  so  weary  had  lie  become  of 
always  the  same  place. 

The  new  ground  was  excellent,  and 
George's  hopes,  lately  clouded,  bright- 
ened again.  He  set  to  work  and 
made  huge  tanks  to  catch  the  next 
rain,  and  as  heretofore  did  the  work 
of  two. 

It  was  a  sad  thing  to  have  to  write 
to  Susan  and  tell  her  that  after  twen- 
ty months'  hard  work  he  was  just 
where  he  had  been  at  first  starting. 

One  day  as  George  was  eating  his 
homely  dinner  on  his  knee  by  the  side 
of  his  principal  flock,  he  sudden- 
ly heard  a  tremendous  scrimmage 
mixed  with  loud  abusive  epithets  from 
Abner.  He  started  up,  and  there 
was  Carlo  pitching  into  a  sheep  who 
was  trying  to  jam  herself  into  the 
crowd  to  escape  him.  Up  runs  one 
of  the  sheep-dogs  growling,  but  in- 
stead of  seizing  Carlo,  as  George 
thought  he  would,  what  does  he  do 
but  fall  upon  another  sheep,  and  spite 
of  all  their  evasions  the  two  dogs 
drove  the  two  sheep  out  of  the  flock 
and  sent  them  pelting  down  the  hill. 
In  one  moment  George  was  alongside 
Abner.  "  Abner,"  said  he,  "  how 
came  you  to  let  strange  sheep  in 
among  mine  1"  —  "  Never  saw  them 
till  the  dog  pinned  them." 

"  You  never  saw  them,"  said 
George,  reproachfully.  "  No,  nor 
your  dog  either,  till  my  Carlo  opened 
your  eyes.  A  pretty  thing  for  a 
shepherd  and  his  dog  to  be  taught 
by  a  pointer.  Well,"  said  George, 
"  you  liad  eyes  enough  to  see  whose 
sheep  they  were.  Tell  me  that,  if 
you  please  1 "  —  Abner  looked  down. 
10* 


"  Why,  Abner  ?  "  —  "  I  'd  as  Heve 
bite  off  my  tongue  as  tell  you." 

George  looked  uneasy,  and  his 
face  fell.  —  "A  '  V.'  Don't  ye  take 
on,"  said  Abner.  "  They  could  n't 
have  been  ten  minutes  among  ours, 
and  there  were  but  two.  And  don't 
you  blow  me  up,  for  such  a  thing 
might  happen  to  the  carefullest  shep- 
herd that  ever  was." 

"  I  won't  blow  ye  up.  Will  Ahner," 
said  George.  "  It  is  my  luck,  not 
yours,  that  has  done  this.  It  was  al- 
ways so.  From  a  game  of  cricket 
upwards,  I  never  had  my  neighbor's 
luck.  If  the  flock  are  not  tainted  I  '11 
give  you  five  pounds,  and  my  purse  is 
not  so  deep  as  some ;  if  they  are, 
take  your  knife  and  drive  it  into  my 
heart :  I  '11  forgive  you  that  as  I  do 
this.  Carlo  !  let  me  look  at  you.  See 
here,  he  is  all  over  some  stinking  oint- 
ment ;  it  is  off  those  sheep.  I  knew 
it.  'T  was  n't  likely  a  pointer  dog 
would  be  down  on  strange  sheep  like 
a  shepherd's  dog  by  the  sight.  'T 
was  this  stuff  offended  him.  Heav- 
en's will  be  done."  —  "  Let  us  hope 
the  best,  and  not  meet  trouble  half- 
way." 

"  Yes  !  "  said  George,  feebly.  "  Let 
us  hope  the  best." 

"Don't  I  hear  that  Thompson  has 
an  ointment  that  cures  the  red  scab  1  " 
—  "  So  they  say." 

George  whistled  to  his  pony.  The 
pony  came  to  him.  George  did  not 
treat  him  as  we  are  apt  to  treat  a 
horse,  —  like  a  riding  machine.  He 
used  to  speak  to  him  and  caress  him 
when  he  fed  him  and  when  he  m:ide 
his  bed,  and  the  horse  followed  him 
about  like  a  dog. 

In  half  an  hour's  sharp  riding  they 
were  at  Thompson's,  an  invalual)le 
man  that  sold  and  bought  animals, 
doctored  animals,  and  kept  a  huge 
boiler  in  which  bullocks  were  reduced 
to  a  few  pounds  of  grease  in  a  very 
few  hours. 

"  You  have  an  ointment  that  is 
good  for  the  scab,  sir  f  "  —  "  That  I 
have,  farmer.  Sold  some  to  a  neigh- 
bor of  yours  day  before  yesterday." 


22G 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"  Who  was  that  ?  "  —  "A  new-com- 
er.    Ye^ey  is  liis  name." 

Georjje  »,'roaued.  "  IIow  do  you 
use  it,  if  you  j)Iease  ?  "  —  ''  Shear  'uin 
dose,  rul)  the  oiritmcnt  well  in,  wash 
'em  evury  two  days,  and  rub  in  again." 

*'  Give  ine  a  stone  of  it."  —  "A 
stone  of  my  ointment !  Well  !  you 
are  the  wisest  man  I  have  come  across 
this  vear  or  two.  You  shall  have  it, 
sir."' 

George  rode  home  with  his  pur- 
chase. 

Abner  turned  up  his  nose  at  it,  and 
was  inclined  to  laugh  at  George's 
fears.  But  George  said  to  himself: 
"  I  have  Susan  to  think  of  as  well  as 
myself.  Besides,"  said  he,  a  litile 
bitterly,  "  I  haven't  a  grain  of  luck. 
Ji'  I  am  to  do  any  good  I  must  be 
twice  as  prudent  and  thrice  as  indus- 
trious as  my  neighbors,  or  I  shall  fall 
hchind  them.  Now,  Abner,  we  '11  shear 
them  close."  —  "  Shear  them  !  Why, 
it  is  not  two  months  since  they  were 
all  sheared." 

"And  then  we  will  rub  a  little  of 
this  ointment  into  them." —  *'  What, 
before  we  see  any  sign  of  the  scab 
among  them  "?  I  would  n't  do  that  if 
they  were  mine." 

"No  more  would  I  if  they  were 
yours,"  replied  George,  almost  fierce- 
ly. ''But  they  are  not  yours,  Will 
Al)ner.     They  arc  unlucky  George's." 

During  the  next  three  days  four 
hundred  siieep  were  clipped  and 
anointed.  Jacky  helped  clip,  but  he 
would  not  wear  gloves,  and  Gcorixe 
would  not  let  him  handle  the  oint- 
ment without  tliem,  suspecting  mer- 
cury. 

At  last  George  yielded  to  Abr.cr's 
remonstrances,  and  left  otf  shearing 
and  anointing. 

Abner  altered  his  opinion  when  one 
day  he  found  a  sheep  rubbing  like 
mad  against  a  tree,  and  before  noon 
half  a  dozen  at  the  same  game.  Those 
two  wretched  sheep  had  tainted  the 
flock. 

Abner  himg  Ws  head  when  he 
came  to  George  with  this  ill-omened 
news.     He  expected   a  storm  of  re- 


proaches. But  George  was  too  deep- 
ly distressed  for  any  petulances  of 
anger.  "  It  is  my  fault,"  said  he ; 
"  1  was  the  master,  and  I  let  my  ser- 
vant direct  me.  jNIy  own  luart  told 
m(;  what  to  do,  yet  1  must  listen  to  a 
fool  and  a  hireling  that  cared  not  for 
the  sheep.  How  should  he  ?  they 
were  n't  his,  they  were  mine  to  lose 
and  mine  to  save.  1  had  my  choice, 
I  took  it,  I  lost  them  :  call  Jacky  and 
let 's  to  woik  and  save  here  and  there 
one,  if  so  be  God  shall  be  kinder  to 
them  than  1  have  been." 

From  that  hour  there  was  but  little 
rest  morning,  noon,  or  night ;  it  was 
nothing  but  an  endless  routine  of 
anointing  and  washing,  washing  and 
anointing  sheep.  To  the  credit  of 
Mr.  Thompson  it  must  l)e  tcld,  that, 
of  the  ibur  hundred  who  had  been  ta- 
ken in  time,  no  single  sluep  died  ;  but 
of  the  others  a  good  many.  There 
are  incompetent  shephrrds,  as  well  as 
incompetent  statesmen  and  doctors, 
though  not  so  many. "  Abner  was 
one  of  these.  An  acute  Australian 
sliepherd  would  have  seen  the  more 
subtle  signs  of  this  terrible  disease  a 
day  or  two  before  the  patient  sheep 
began  to  rub  themselves  with  fury 
against  the  trees  and  against  each 
other;  but  Abner  did  iiot ;  and 
George  did  not  profess  to  have  a  mi- 
nute knowledge  of  the  animal,  or  why 
pay  a  shepherd  ?  When  this  Hercu- 
lean labor  and  battle  had  gone  on  for 
about  a  week,  Abner  came  to  George, 
and  with  a  hangdog  look  begged  him 
to  look  out  for  another  shepherd. 

"  Why,  Will !  surely,  you  won't 
think  to  leave  me  in  this  strait  ? 
Why,  three  of  ns  are  hardly  able  for 
the  work,  and  how  can  1  make  head 
against  this  plague  with  only  the  poor 
sav — with  only  Jacky,  that  is  tir-t- 
rate  at  light  wdrk  till  h'  gets  to  find 
it  dull,  —  but  can't  lift  a  sheep  and 
fling  her  into  the  water,  as  the  like  of 
us  can  ?  " — "  Well,  ye  see,"  said  At)- 
ner,  doggedly,  "  I  have  got  the  otlVr 
of  a  place  with  Mr.  Meredith,  and  he 
won't  wait  for  me  more  than  a  week." 

"  He  is  a  rich  man,  Will,  and  I  am 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


227 


a  poor  one,"  said  George,  in  a  faint, 
expostulariiig  tone."  Abner  said 
nothing'-,  but  his  face  showed  he  had 
ah-caily  considered  this  fact  fooin  his 
own  point  of  view. 

*'  lie  could  spare  vou  better  than  I 
can  ;  but  you  arc  riglit  to  leave  a  fall- 
ing house  that  you  have  helped  to 
pull  down."  —  "I  don't  want  to  go 
all  in  a  moment ;  I  can  stay  a  week, 
till  you  get  another." 

"  A  week  !  how  can  I  get  a  shep- 
herd in  this  wilderness  at  a  week's 
notice;  you  talk  like  a  fool."  — 
"  Well,  I  can't  stay  any  longer.  You 
know  there  is  no  agreement  at  all  be- 
tween us,  but  I  '11  stay  a  week  to 
oblige  you." 

"You'll  oblige  me,  will  you?" 
said  George,  with  a  burst  of  indigna- 
tion ;  "  then  obli;jce  me  by  packing 
up  your  traps  and  taking  your  ugly 
face  out  of  my  sight  before  dinner- 
time this  day.  Stay,  my  man,  here 
are  your  wages  up  to  twelve  o'clock 
to-day,  take  'em,  and  out  of  my  sigtit, 
you  dirty  rascal.  Let  me  m^'et  mis- 
fortune with  none  but  friends  by  my 
side.  Away  with  you,  or  I  shall  for- 
get myself  and  dirty  my  hands  with 
your  mean  carcass  " 

The  hireling  slunk  off,  and,  as  he 
slunk,  George  stormed  and  thundered 
after  him  :  "  And,  wherever  you  go, 
may  sorrow  and  sickness  —  no !  " 

George  turned  to  Jacky,  who  sat 
coolly  by,  his  eyes  sparkling  at  the 
prospect  of  a  row.  ''Jacky!"  said 
he,  and  then  he  seemed  to  choke,  and 
could  not  say  another  word.  —  "  Sup- 
pose I  get  the  make-thunder,  then  you 
shoot  him." 

"  Shoot  him  !  what  for  ?  "  _  "  Too 
much  bungality,*  shoot  him  dead, 
lie  let  the  sheep  come  that  have  my 
two  fingers  so  on  their  backs,"  — 
here  Jaeky  made  a  V  with  his  middle 
and  forefinger,  —  "  so  he  kill  the  other 
sheep,  —  yet  still  you  not  shoot  him, 
—  that  so  stupid  I  call." 

"  O  Jacky,  hush  !  don't  you  know 
me  better  than  to  think  I  would  kill 
a  man  for  killing  my  sheep  1  0  fie  ! 
*  Stupidity. 


0  fie  !  No,  Jacky,  Heaven  forbid  I 
should  do  the  man  any  harm  ;  but 
when  I  think  of  what  he  has  Ijrought 
on  my  head,  and  then  to  skulk  and 
leave  me  in  my  sore  strait  and  trouble, 
me  that  never  gave  him  ill  language 
as  most  masters  would  ;  and  then, 
Jacky,  do  you  remember  when  he 
was  sick  how  kind  you  and  I  were  to 
him  ?  —  and  now  to  leave  us.     There, 

1  must  go  into  the  house,  and  you 
come  and  call  me  out  when  that  man 
is  off  the  premises, — not  before.  At 
twelve  o'clock  selfish  Abner  started 
to  walk  to  Mr.  Meredith's,  a  distance 
of  thirty  miles.  Smarting  under  the 
sense  of  his  contemptihleness  and  of 
the  injury  he  was  doing  his  kind 
poor  master,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the 
house,  and  told  Jacky  he  hoped  the 
scab  would  rot  the  fiock,  and,  that 
done,  fall  upon  the  bipeds,  on  his  own 
black  hide  in  particular.  Jacky  only 
answered  with  his  eye.  When  the 
man  was  gone  he  called  George. 

George's  anger  had  soon  died. 
Jacky  found  him  reading  a  little  book 
in  search  of  comfort,  and  when  they 
were  out  in  the  air  Jacky  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  rather  red. 

"  Why  you  cry  1  "  said  Jacky.  "  I 
very  angry  because  you  cry."  —  "  It 
is  very  foolish  of  me,"  said  George, 
apologetically,  "  but  three  is  a  small 
company,  and  we  in  such  trouble ;  I 
thou;iht  I  hiid  made  a  friend  of  him. 
Often  I  saw  he  was  not  worth  his 
wages,  but  out  of  pity  I  would  n't 
part  with  him  when  I  could  better 
have  spared  him  than  he  me,  and  no^v 
—  there  — no  more  about  it.  Work 
is  best  for  a  sore  heart,  and  mine  is 
sore  and  heavy  too  this  day." 

Jacky  put  his  finger  to  his  head, 
and  looked  wise.  "  First  you  listen 
me,  —  this  one  time  I  speak  a  good 
many  words.  Dat  stupid  fellow  know 
nothing,  and  so,  because  you  not 
shoot  him  a  good  way*  behind,  you 
very  stupid.  One,"  counted  Jacky, 
touching  his  thumb.  "  he  knew  noth- 
ing with  these  "  (pointing  to  his  eyes). 
"  Jacky  know  possum,  f  Jacky  know 
*  Long  ago.  t  Opossum. 


228 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND. 


kangaroo,  know  turkey,  know  snake, 
know  a  <:()o(l  many,  .--ome  with  le;^s 
Jikc  (lis  "(four  Jini^ors),  "  some  with 
lejis  like  <hs  "  (two  tinkers),  —  "  dat 
stupitl  fellow  know  nothin<;-  hut  sheep, 
and  not  know  sheep,  let  liini  die  too 
much.  Know  nothing;  with  urn  eyes. 
One  more"  (touching  his  t'uretin^er). 
"  Know  nothiii}^  with  dis"  (toucliiii<j 
his  tongue).  "Jaeky  speak  hini  good 
words,  he  speak  Jacky  bad  words. 
])ac  so  stupid, —  he  know  nothing 
with  dis.  One  more.  You  do  him 
^ood  things,  —  he  do  you  i)ad  things; 
he  know  nothing  with  these  "  (indicat- 
ing his  arms  and  legs  as  the  seat  of 
moral  aciion).  "  so  den  because  you 
not  slioot  him  long  ago  now  you  cry  ; 
den  l)e(ause  you  cry  Jacky  angry. 
Yes,  Jacky,  very  good.  Jacky  a  lit- 
tle good  before  he  live  with  you. 
Since  den  very  good  ;  but  when  dat 
fellow  know  nothing,  and  now  you 
cry  at  the  bottom  *  part  Jacky  a  little 
angry,  and  Jacky  go  hunting  a  little 
not  much  direckly." 

With  these  words  the  savage 
caught  up  his  tomahawk  and  two 
spears,  and  was  going  across  country 
without  another  word,  but  George 
cried  out  in  dismay,  "  0  stop  a  mo- 
ment !  What,  to  day,  Jacky  1  Jacky, 
Jacky,  now  don't  ye  go  to-day.  I 
know  it  is  very  dull  for  the  likes  of 
you,  and  you  will  soon  leave  me,  but 
don't  ye  go  to-day  ;  don't  set  me 
against  fiesh  and   blood    altogether." 

—  "  I  come  back  when  the  sun  there," 
pointing  to  the  east,  "but  must  hunt 
a  little,  not  much.  Jacky  uncomfort- 
able," continued  he,  jumping  at  a 
word  which,  frotn  its  size,  he  thought 
must  be  of  wei>:ht  in  any  argument, 
"  a  good  deal  uncomfortable  ;  sup- 
pose 1  not  hunt  a  little  dis  day." 

"  I  say  no   more,  1  have  no  right, 

—  good  by,  take  my  hand,  I  shall 
never  see  you  any  more."  —  '*  I  shall 
come  buck  when  the  sun  there." 

"  Ah  !  well,  I  dare  say  you  think 
you  will.  Good  by,  Jacky  ;  don't  you 
Btay  lo  please  me." 

jacky  glided  away  across  country. 
*  At  last. 


He  looked  back  once  more  and  paw 
George  watching  bim.  (ieorge  was 
sitting  sorrowful  upon  a  stone,  and,  as 
this  last  bit  of  humanity  tell  away 
fiom  him  and  melted  away  in  the 
distance,  his  heart  died  wiiidn  him. 
"  He  thinks  he  will  come  back  to  me, 
but  when  he  gets  in  the  open,  and 
tinds  the  track  of  animals  to  hunt,  he 
will  follow  them  wherever  they  go, 
and  his  ])()or  shallow  head  w(m't  re- 
member tliis  place  nor  me  ;  1  shall 
never  see  poor  Jacky  any  more  !  " 

The  black  continued  his  course  for 
about  four  miles  until  a  deep  hollow 
hid  him  from  George.  Arrived  here, 
be  instantly  took  a  line  nearly  oppo- 
site to  his  first,  and  when  he  had  gone 
about  three  miles  on  this  tack  he  be- 
gan to  examine  the  ground  attentively 
and  to  run  al)Out  like  a  hound.  After 
near  half  an  hour  of  this  he  fell  upon 
some  tracks  and  followed  them  at 
an  easy  trot  across  the  country  for 
miles  and  miles,  his  eye  keenly  bent 
upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Our  story  has  to  follow  a  little  way 
ah  infinitesimal  personage. 

Abner,  the  imgratefullish  one,  with 
a  bundle  tied  up  in  a  handkereliief, 
strode  stoutly  away  towards  Mr.  Mere- 
dith's grazing-ground.  "  I  am  well 
out  of  that  place,"  was  his  reflection. 
As  he  had  been  only  once  over  the 
ground  before,  he  did  not  venture 
to  relax  his  pace,  lest  night  shoiilil 
overtake  him  in  a  strange  part.  He 
stepped  out  so  well  tlmt  just  before 
the  sun  set  he  reached  the  head  of  a 
broad  valley  that  was  all  Meredith's: 
about  three  miles  otF  glittered  a  white 
mansion  set  in  a  sea  of  pasture 
studded  with  cattle  instead  of  sails. 
"  Ay  !  ay  !  "  thought  ihc  ungratcfulli-«h 
one,  "  no  fear  of  the  seal)  bri-aking  up 
this  master,  —  I  'm  all  right  now." 
As  he  chuckled  over  his  prospects  a 
dusky  Hgure  stole  noiselessly  from  a 
little  thicket,  —  au  arm  was  raised  be- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


229 


hind  him,  — crosssh  !  a  hard  weapon 
came  down  on  his  ,-kull,  and  he  lay  on 
his  face  witli  the  blood  tricliling  from 
his  mouih  and  ears. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

He  who  a  few  months  ago  was  so 
light-hearted  and  bright  with  hope 
now  rose  at  daybreak  for  a  work  of 
Hercniean  toil  as  usual,  but  no  longer 
with  the  spirit  that  makes  labor  light. 
The  same  strength,  the  same  dogged 
perseverance  were  there,  but  the  sense 
of  lost  money,  lost  time,  and  invinci- 
ble ill-luck  oppressed  him;  then  too 
he  was  jilone,  —  everything  had  de- 
serted him  Init  misfortune. 

"  I  have  left  my  Susan,  and  I  have 
lost  her,  —  left  the  only  friend  I  had 
or  ever  shall  have  in  this  hard  world." 
This  was  his  constant  thought  as 
doggedly  but  hopelessly  he  struggled 
against  the  pestilence.  Single-hand- 
ed and  leaden-hearted  he  had  to  catch 
a  sheep,  toiling  her  down,  to  hold  her 
down,  to  rub  the  ointment  into  her, 
and  to  catch  another  that  had  been 
ru!)bed  yesterday,  and  take  her  to  the 
pool  and  fling  her  in  and  keep  her  in 
till  every  part  of  her  skin  was  soaked. 

Four  hours  of  this  drudgery  had 
George  gone  through  single-handed 
and  leaden-hearted,  when  as  he  knelt 
over  a  kicking,  struggling  sheep,  he 
became  conscious  of  something  glid- 
ing between  him  and  the  sun ;  he 
looked  up  and  there  was  Jacky  grin- 
ning. 

George  nttered  an  exclamation  : 
"  What,  come  back  !  Well,  now  that 
is  very  good  of  you  I  call.  How  do 
you  do  ?  "  and  he  gave  him  a  great 
shake  of  the  hand.  —  "  Jacky  very 
well,  Jacky  not  at  all  uncomfortable 
after  him  iiunt  a  little." 

"  Then  I  am  very  glad  you  have 
had  a  day's  sport,  leastways  a  night's 
I  call  it,  since  it  has  maile  you  com- 
fortable, Jacky."  —  "  O  yes,  A^ery 
comfortable  now";  and  his  white 
teeth  and  bright  eye  proclaimed  the 


relief  and  satisfaction  his  little  tnp 
had  alfoided  his  naiure. 

"  There,  Jacky,  if  the  ointment  is 
worth  the  troul)ie  it  gives  me  rubbing 
of  it  in,  that  sheep  won't  ever  catcii 
the  scab,  1  do  think.  Well,  Jacky, 
seems  to  me  I  ought  to  ask  your  par- 
don, —  I  did  you  wrong.  I  never 
expected  you  would  leave  the  kanga- 
roos and  opossums  for  me  once  you 
were  off.  But  I  suppose  fact  is  you 
have  n't  quite  forgotten  Twofold 
Bay."  —  "Two  fool  bay?"  inquired 
Jackv,  puzzled. 

"  Where  I  first  fell  in  with  yon. 
You  made  one  in  a  hunt  that  day, 
only  instead  of  hunting  you  was 
hunted,  and  pretty  close  too;  and  if  I 
had  n't  been  a  good  cricketer  and 
learnt  to  fling  true  —  Why,  1  do  de- 
clare, I  think  he  has  forgotten  the 
whole   thing,  shark  and  all  !  " 

At  the  word  "  shark  "  a  gleam  of  in- 
telligence came  to  the  black's  eye  ;  it 
was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  wonder. 
"  Shark  come  to  eat  me,  — you  throw 
stone,  —  so  we  eat "  him.  I  see  him 
now  a  little,  —  a  very  little,  —  dat 
a  long  way  off",  —  a  very  long  way 
off.  Jacky  can  hardly  see  him  when 
he  try  a  good  deal.  White  fellow  see 
\i  long  way  oflp  behind  him  back,  — 
dat  is  very  curious." 

George  colored.  "  You  are  right, 
lad,  —  it  was  a  long  while  ago,  and  I 
am  vexed  for  mentioning  it.  Well, 
any  way,  you  arp  come  back  and  yon 
are  welcome.  Now  you  shall  do  a 
little  of  the  light  work,  but  I  '11  do  all 
the  heavy  work  because  1  'm  used  to 
it " ;  and,  indeed,  poor  George  did 
work  and  slave  like  Hercules  ;  forty 
times  that  day  he  carried  a  fuH-sized 
sheep  in  his  hands  a  distance  of 
twenty  yards  and  flung  her  into  the 
water  and  splashed  in  and  rubbed  her 
back  in  the  water. 

The  fourth  day  after  Jacky's  return, 
G<;ortre  asked  him  to  go  all  over  the 
ground  and  tell  him  how  mnny  sheep 
he  saw  give  signs  of  the  fatal  disor- 
der. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
Jacky  returned,  driving  before  him 


230 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


with  his  spear  a  single  sheep.  The 
tigility  of  both  the  biped  and  quadru- 
ped was  drull ;  the  hitter  every  now 
and  then  niakin;^  a  rapid  bolt  to  yet 
back  to  the  pasture,  and  Jacky 
bounding  like  a  buck  and  pricking 
her  with  a  spear. 

For  the  hrst  time  he  found  George 
doing  nothing.  "  Dis  one  scratcli  uin 
back, — only  dis  one." 

*'  Then  we  have  driven  out  the 
murrain  and  the  rest  will  live.  A 
hard  tight !  Jacky,  a  hard  tigiit !  but 
Ave  have  won  it  at  last.  We  will  rub 
this  one  well ;  help  me  put  her  down, 
for  my  head  aches" 

After  rubbing  her  a  little,  George 
said  :  *'  Jacky,  I  wish  you  would  do 
it  for  me,  for  my  head  do  ache  so  I 
can't  abide  to  hold  it  down  and  work 
too." 

After  dinner  they  sat  and  looked  at 
the  sheep  feeding.  "No  more  dis," 
said  Jacky,  gayly,  imitating  a  sheep 
rubbing  against  a  tree. 

"  No  !  1  have  won  the  day  ;  but  I 
have  n't  won  it  cheap.  Jacky,  that 
fellow  Ahncr  was  a  bad  man, — an 
ungrateful  man."  These  words 
George  spoke  with  a  very  singular 
tone  of  gravity. 

"  Never  you  mind  you  about  him. 

—  "No!  I  must  try  to  forgive  him; 
we  are  all  great  sinners  ;  is  it  cold  to- 
day ?  " 

"  No  !  it  is  a  good  deal  hot !  "  — 
"  I  thought  it  must,  for  the  wind  is  in 
a  kindly  quarter.  Well,  Jacky,  —  I 
am  as  cold  as  ice." 

"  J)at  very  curious."  —  "  And  my 
head  do  ache  so  I  can  hardly  bear 
myself" 

"  You  ill  a  little,  —  soon  be  well." 

—  "  I  doubt  I  shall  be  worse  before  I 
am  better." 

"  Never  you  mind  you.  I  go  and 
bring  somethinLC  I  know.  We  make 
it  hot  with  water,  den  you  drink  it; 
and  after  dat  you  a  good  deal  better." 

—  '■  Do,  Jacky.  I  won't  take  doctor's 
stuff;  it  is  dug  out  of  the  ground,  and 
never  was  intended  for  man's  inside. 
But  you  get  me  something  tliat  grows 
in  eight,  and  I  '11  take  that ;  and  don't 


be    long,    Jacky,  —  for    I    am    not 
well." 

Jacky  returned  towards  evening 
with  a  bundle  of  simples.  He  found 
George  shivering  over  a  fire.  He 
got  tlie  pot  and  began  to  prepare  an 
infusion.  "  Now  you  soon  better," 
said  he.  —  "I  hope  so,  Jacky,"  said 
George,  very  gravely,  "  thank  you  all 
the  same.  Jacky,  1  have  n't  been  not 
to  say  dry  for  the  last  ten  days  with 
me  washing  the  sheep,  and  I  have 
cauglit  a  terril)le  chill,  —  a  chill  like 
deatli  ;  and,  Jaiky,  I  have  tried  too 
much,  —  I  have  al>used  my  strength. 
1  am  a  very  strong  man,  as  men  go, 
and  so  was  my  father  ;  but  he  abused 
his  strength.  —  and  he  was  took  just  as 
I  am  took  now,  and  in  a  week  he  was 
dead.  I  have  worked  hard  ever  since 
I  came  here,  but  ^in(•e  Ai)ner  left  me  at 
the  pinch  it  has  n't  been  man's  work, 
Jacky  ;  it  has  been  a  wrestling-match 
from  (lawn  to  dark.  No  man  could 
go  on  so  and  not  break  down  ;  but  I 
wanted  so  to  save  the  poor  sheep. 
Well,  the  sheep  arc  saved  :  but  —  " 

When  Jacky's  infusion  was  ready, 
he  made  George  take  it  and  then  lie 
down.  Unfortunately,  the  attack  was 
too  violent  to  yield  to  this  simple  rem- 
edy. Fever  was  upon  George  Field- 
ing, —  Fever  in  his  giant  shape  ;  not 
as  he  creeps  over  the  weak,  but  as  he 
rushes  on  the  strong.  George  had 
never  a  headache  in  his  life  before. 
Fever  found  him  full  of  blood  and 
turned  it  all  to  fire.  He  tossed,  —  he 
raged,  —  and  forty-eight  hours  after 
his  first  seizure  the  strong  man  lay 
weak  as  a  child,  except  during  th«)se 
paroxysms  of  delirium  which  robbed 
him  of  his  reason  while  they  lasted, 
and  of  his  strength  when  they  retired. 

On  the  fourth  day,  —  after  a  ragin<r 
paroxysm,  —  he  became  suddenly 
calm,  and  looking  up  saw  Jacky  seated 
at  some  little  distance,  his  bright  eye 
fixed  upon  him. 

"You  better  now?"  inquired  he,  with 
even  more  than  his  usual  gentleness  of 
tone.  "  You  not  talk  stupid  things  any 
more  ?  "  —  "  What,  Jacky,  are  you 
watching  me  7 "  said  the  sick  man. 


*'IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


231 


•*  Now  I  call  that  very  kind  of  you. 
Jufky,  I  am  not  the  man  I  was,  — 
we  am  cut  lioun  in  a  day  like  the 
ripe  grass.  How  lon<;  is  it  since  I 
was  took  ill?"  —  "One, ^one,  one, 
anil   one  more  day. 

"Ay!  ay!  My  fatlier  lasted  till 
the  litdi  day,  and  then  —     Jacky  !  " 

—  "  Here  Jack}- !  what  you  want  ?  " 
"  Go  out  on  the  hill  and  see  whether 

any  of  the  sheep  are  rubbin<;  them- 
selves." Jacky  went  out  and  soon 
returned.    "  Not  see  one  rub  himself." 

A  faint  gleam  lighted  George's 
SMuken  eye.  "  That  is  a  comfort.  I 
hope  I  shall  be  accepted  not  to  have 
lieen  a  bad  shepherd,  for  I  may  say 
'  1  have  given  my  life  for  my  sheep.' 
Poor  things." 

George  dozed.  Towards  evening 
he  awoke,  and  there  was  Jacky  just 
where  he  had  seen  him  last.  ''  I 
did  n't  think  you  had  cared  so  much 
forme,  Jacky,  my  boy."  —  "  Yes,  care 
very  much  for  you.  See,  um  make 
beef  water  for  you  a  good  deal." 

And,  sure  enough,  he  had  boiled 
down  about  forty  pounds  of  beef  and 
filled  a  huge  calaliash  with  the  extract, 
which  he  set  by  George's  side. 

"And  why  are  you  so  fond  of  me, 
Jacky  ?  It  is  n't  on  account  of  my 
saving  your  life,  for  you  had  forgotten 
that.  What  makes  you  such  a  friend 
to  me  ?  "  —  "  I  tell  you.  Often  I  go 
to  tell  you  before,  but  many  words 
dat  a  good  deal  trouble.  One,  — 
when  you  make  thunder  the  bird  al- 
ways die.  One, — you  take  a  sheep 
so  and  hold  him  up  high.  Um  never 
see  one  more  white  fellow  able  do 
dat.  One,  — you  make  a  stone  go  and 
bit  thinix;  other  white  fellow  never 
hir.  One,  —  little  horse  come  to  you  : 
other  white  fellow  go  to  horse,  — 
horse  run  away.  Little  horse  run  to 
you.  (lat  because  you  so  sxood.     One, 

—  Carlo  fond  of  you.  All  day  now 
he  come  in  and  uo  out,  and  say  so  " 
(imitatiuLT  a  dog's  whimper).  "  He  so 
uncomfortable  because  you  lie  down 
6o.  One,  —  when  you  speak  to  Jacky, 
you  not  speak  big  like  white  fellow, 
you  speak  small  and  like  a  fiddle,  — 


dat  please  Jacky's  ear.  One,  —  when 
you  lofjk  at  Jacky  ahyays  your  (ace 
make  like  a  hot  day  when  dere  no 
rain,  —  dat  please  Jacky's  eye  ;  and  so 
when  Jacky  see  you  stand  upijne  day 
a  good  deal  high  and  now  lie  down, 

—  dat  makes  him  uncomfortable; 
and  when  he  see  you  red  one  day  and 
white  dis  day,  —  dat  make  him  un- 
comfortable a  good  deal  ;  and  when  ho 
see  you  so  beautiful  one  day,  and  dis 
day  so  ugly,  —  dat  make  him  so  iuk  om- 
fortable,  he  afraid  you  go  away  ai.d 
speak  no  more  good  woids  to  jacky, 

—  and  dat  makes  Jacky  feel  a  thing 
inside  here  "  (touchinghis  breast),  "  no 
more  can  l>reathe,  —  and  want  to  do 
like   the   gins,  but  don't  know  how. 

0  dear  !  don't  know  how  !  " 

"  Poor  Jacky  !  I  do  wish  I  had 
been  kinder  to  you  than  I  have.     O, 

1  am  very  short  of  wind, -and  my 
back  is  very  bad  !  "  —  "  When  black 
fellow  bad  in  um  back  he  always  die," 
said  Jacky,  very  gravely. 

"  Ay,"  said  George,  quietly. 
"  Jacky,  will  you  do  one  or  two  lit- 
tle things  for  me,  now  1  "  —  "  Yes,  do 
um  all." 

,  "  Give  me  that  little  book,  that  I 
may  read  it.  Tt  auk  you.  Jacky, 
\!iis  is  the  book  oi  my  religion  :  and 
it  was  given  to  me  by  one  I  love  bet- 
ter than  all  the  world.  I  have  diso- 
beyed her,  —  I  have  thought  too  little 
of  what  is  in  this  book,  and  too  much 
of  this  world's  gain.  God  forgive 
me  !  and  I  think  he  will,  because  it 
was  for  Susan's  sake  1  was  so  greedy 
of  gain." 

Jacky  looked  on  awe-struck  as 
George  read  the  book  of  his  religion. 
"  Open  the  door,  Jacky." 

Jacky  opened  t!ie  door  ;  then,  com- 
ing to  George's  side,  he  said  with  an 
anxious,  inquiring  look  and  trem- 
bling voice,  "  Are  you  going  to  leave 
me,  George?"  —  "  Yes,  Jacky,  my 
boy,"  said  George,  "  I  doubt  I  am 
going  to  leave  you.  So  now,  thank 
you  and  bless  you  for  all  kindness. 
Put   your   f ice  close   down   to  mine 

—  there  —  I  don't  care  for  your  black 
skin,  —  He   who    made    mine   made 


232 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


yours ;  and  I  feel  we  are  brothers, 
aiul  yon  have. been  one  to  mc.  G'>od 
by,  dear,  and  don't  stay  here.  You 
can  do  nothing;  more  for  your  poor 
friend  Geor<;e." 

Jaeky  irave  a  little  moan.  *'Yes, 
nm  can  do  a  little  more  liefore  he  <^o 
and  hide  liim  face  where  there  are  a 
fjoud  deal  of  trees." 

Then  Jacky  went  almost  on  tiptoe. 
And  fetched  another  calabash  full  of 
water  and  placed  it  by  Geor;:e's  head. 
Tlien  lie  went  very  sofily  and  fetched 
the  heavy  iion  which  he  had  seen 
Geory:e  use  in  pcnnin^r  sheep,  and  laid 
it  by  Georoe's  side  ;  next  he  went 
softly  and  bioui^ht  Georp^e's  j^^un,  and 
laid  it  gently  by  George's  side  down 
on  the  ground. 

This  done  he  turned  to  take  his  last 
look  of  the  sick  man  now  feebly 
dozing,  the  little  book  in  his  droop- 
ing hand.  But  as  he  gazed  nature 
rushed  over  the  poor  savage's  heart 
and  took  it  quite  by  surprise  :  even 
while  bending  over  his  white  brother 
to  lo(jk  his  last  farewell,  with  a  sud- 
den start  he  turned  his  back  on  him, 
and,  sinking  on  his  liands,  he  burst 
out  crying  and  sobbing  with  a  wild 
and  terrible  vioience. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

For  near  an  hour  Jaeky  sat  upon 
the  ground,  his  face  averted  from  his 
sick  friend,  and  cried  ;  then  suddenly 
he  rose,  and,  without  looking  at  iiim, 
went  out  at  the  door,  and,  turning  bis 
face  towards  the  great  forests  that  lay 
forty  miles  distant  eastward,  he  ran 
all  the  night,  and  long  before  dawn 
Wiis  hid  in  the  pathless  woods. 

A  white  man  feels  that  grief,  when 
not  selH>h,  is  honorable,  and  uncon- 
eciousl}'  he  nurses  such  grief  more  or 
less ;  but  to  simple-minded  Jaeky 
grief  was  merely  a  '•ubtle  pain,  and 
to  be  got  rid  of  as  quickly  as  jjossible, 
like  any  other  pain. 

He  ran  to  the  vast  and  distant 
woods,    hoping     to    leave    George's 


death  a  long  way  behind  him,  and  so 
not  see  what  causeil  his  pain  so  plain 
as  he  saw  it  just  now.  It.  is  to  be 
observed  that  he  looked  u])on  George 
as  dead.  The  taking  into  his  hand 
of  the  book  of  his  religion,  the  kind 
embrace,  the  request  that  the  door 
might  be  opened,  doubtless  for  the 
disembodied  spirit  to  pa-^s  our,  —  all 
these  rites  were  understood  l)y  Jaeky 
to  imply  that  the  last  scene  was  at 
hand.  Why  witness  it?  it  would 
make  him  still  more  uncomfortable. 
Therefore  he  ran,  and  never  once 
looked  back,  and  plunged  into  the 
impenetrable  gloom  of  the  Eastern 
forests. 

The  white  man  had  left  Fielding, 
to  get  a  richer  master.  The  half-rea- 
soning savage  left  him  to  cure  his 
own  grief  at  losing  him.  There  lie 
lay  abandoned  in  trouble  and  sickness 
by  all  his  kind.  But  one  friend  never 
stirred  ;  a  single-hearted,  single-mind- 
ed, non-reasoning  friend. 

Who  was  this  pure-minded  friend  ? 
-A  dog. 

Carlo  loved  George.  They  had 
lived  together,  they  had  sported  to- 
gether, they  had  slept  together  side  by 
side  on  the  c(dd  hard  deck  of  the 
"  Phoenix,"  and  often  they  had  kept 
each  other  warm,  sitting  "crouched  to- 
gether behind  a  little  l)ank,  or  a  fallen 
tree,  with  the  wind  whistling  and  the 
rain  shooting  by  their  ears. 

When  day  after  day  George  came 
not  out  of  tlie  house,  Carlo  was  very 
uneasy.  He  u-ed  to  patter  in  and 
out  all  day,  and  whimper  pitifully, 
and  often  he  sat  in  the  room  where 
Georsre  lay,  and  looked  towards  him 
and  whined.  But  now  when  his  mas- 
ter was  left  quite  alone  his  distress 
and  anxiety  redoubled ;  he  never 
went  ten  yards  away  from  George. 
He  ran  in  and  out  moaning  and  whin- 
ing, and  at  last  he  sat  outside  ihe  door 
and  lifted  up  his  voice  and  howled 
day  and  night  continually.  Ilis  mean- 
er instincts  lay  neglected ;  he  ate 
nothing;  his  heart  was  bigger  than 
his  belly;  he  would  not  leave  his 
friend  even  to  feed  himself.     And  still 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


233 


day  and  night  without  cease  his  pas- 
sionate cry  went  up  to  heaven. 

What  passed  in  that  siii<:le  heart 
none  can  tell  for  certain  but  his  Crea- 
tor; nor  what  was  uttered  in  that  de- 
))l()ral)le  cry  ;  love,  sorrow,  perplexity, 
dismay,  —  all  these  perhaps,  and  some- 
thing of  prayer,  — for  still  he  lifted  his 
sorrowful  face  towards  heaven  as  he 
cried  out  in  sore  perplexity,  distress, 
and  (ear  for  his  poor  master — oh! 
o-o-o-h  !  o-oo-o-h  !  o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h  ! 

So  we  luust  leave  awhile  poor,  hon- 
est, unlucky  George,  sick  of  a  fever, 
ten  miles  from  the  nearest  hut.  Leath- 
er-heart has  gone  from  him  to  be  a 
rich  man's  hireling. 

Shallow-heart  has  fled  to  the  forest, 
and  is  hunting  kangaroos  with  all  the 
inches  of  his  soul. 

Single-heart  sits  fasting  from  all 
but  grief  before  tlie  door,  and  utters 
heart-rending,  lamentable  cries  to 
earth  and  heaven. 


CHAPTEK  XLII. 

Jail  is  still  a  grim  and  castel- 
lated mountain  of  masonry,  but  a  hu- 
man heart  beats  and  a  human  brain 
throbs  inside  it  now. 

Enter  without  fear  of  seeing  chil- 
dren kill  themselves,  and  bearded 
men  faint  like  women,  or  weep  like 
children,  —  horrible  sights. 

The  prisoners  no  longer  crouch  and 
cower  past  the  officers,  nor  the  officers 
look  at  them  and  speak  to  them  as  if 
they  were  dogs,  as  they  do  in  most  of 
these  places,  and  used  to  here. 

Open  this  cell.  A  woman  rises 
with  a  smile!  why  a  smile?  Because 
for  months  an  open  door  has  general- 
ly jet  in  what  is  always  a  great  boon 
to  a  separate  prisoner, — a  liuman 
creature  with  a  civil  word.  We  re- 
member when  an  open  door  meant 
"  way  for  a  ruffian  and  a  fool  to  tram- 
ple upon  the  solitary  and  sorrowful !  " 

What  is  this  smiling  personage  do- 
ing ?  as  I  live,  she  is  watchmaking  ! 
A  woman  watchmaking,  with  neat 
and  taper  fingers,  and  glass  at   her 


eye  sometimes,  but  not  always,  for  in 
vision,  as  well  as  in  the  sense  of  touch 
and  patience,  Nature  has  l»een  bounte- 
ous to  her.  She  is  one  of  four.  Ei^ht, 
besides  these  four,  were  tried  and 
found  incapable  of  excellence  in  tliis 
difficult  craft.  They  were  put  to 
other  things  ;  for  permanent  failures 

are  not  permitted  in Jail.     The 

theory  is,  that  every  homo  can  turn 
some  sort  of  labor  to  profit. 

Difficulties  occur  often.  Impossi- 
bilities will  bar  the  way  now  and 
then  ;  but  there  are  so  few  real  im- 
possibilities When  a  difficulty  arises, 
the  three  hundred  industrious  arts 
and  crafts  are  freely  ransacked  for  a 
prisoner  ;  ay,  ransacked  as  few  rich 
men  would  be  i)othered  to  sift  the 
seven  or  ei;^ht  liberal  professions,  in 
order  to  fit  a  beloved  sou. 

Here,  as  in  the  world,  the  average 
of  talent  is  low.  The  majority  can 
only  learn  easy  things,  and  vulgar 
things,  and  some  can  do  higher  things, 
and  a  few  can  do  beautiful  things,  and 
one  or  two  have  developed  first-rate 
gifts  and  powers. 

There  are  25  shoemakers  (male)  ; 
12  tailors,  of  whom  6  female;  24 
weavers,  of  whom  10  female  ;  4 
watchmakers,  all  female  ;  6  printers 
and  composers,  5  female  ;  4  iiigraiii- 
ers  of  wood,  2  female.  (In  this  art; 
we  have  the  first  artist  in  Britain,  our 
old  acquaintance  Thomas  Robinson. 
He  has  passed  all  his  competitors  by 
a  simple  process.  Beautiful  speci- 
mens of  all  the  woods  have  been 
placed  and  kept  before  him,  and  for  a 
month  he  has  been  forced  to  imitate 
Nature  with  his  eye  never  off^  her. 
His  competitors  in  the  world  imitate 
Nature  from  memory,  from  conven- 
tion, or  from  tradition.  By  such  pro- 
cesses truth  and  beauty  are  lost  at  ea-h 
step  down  the  ladder  of  routine.  Mr. 
Eden  gave  clever  Tom  at  first  start- 
ing the  right  end  of  the  stick,  instead 
of  letting  him  take  the  v/rong.)  9 
joiners  and  carpenters,  3  female  ;  3 
who  color  prints  downright  well,  1 
female  ;  2  painters,  1  female  ;  3  pu- 
pils short-hand  writing,  1  female. 


234 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEXD.' 


[Fancy  these  attend in<?  the  Old 
Btvilcv  and  taking  it  all  down  solemn 
as  Judges.] 

Workers  in  fjutta-perrlia,  model- 
lers ill  clay,  washers  and  getters-up 
of  liiK-n,  lioeinakers,  s])ade-makers, 
rake-makers,  wood-carvers,  stone-cut- 
ters, bakers,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  ad  in- 
Jiiiituin.  Come  to  the  hard-labor  yard. 
1)()  yon  see  those  lifteen  stables  ? 
tliere  lurk  in  vain  the  rusty  cranks  : 
<-ondemned  first  as  liars  they  fell  soon 
afrer  into  disrepute  as  weapons  of  ^ 
science  to  de<_'rade  minds  and  bodies. 
They  Inik  tliere  grim  as  the  used-up 
giants  ill  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and, 
like  them,  can't  catch  a  soul. 

Hark  to  the  music  of  the  shuttle 
and  the  useful  loom.  We  weave  linen, 
cotton,  woollen,  linsey-woolsey,  and, 
not  to  be  behind  the  rogues  outside, 
cottonsey-woolsey,  and  cottonsey-silk- 
sey  :  damask  we  weave,  and  a  little 
silk  and  po[)lin,  and  Mary  Baker  vel- 
vet itself  for  a  treat  now  and  then. 
We  of  the  loom  relieve  the  county 
of  all  expense  in  keeping  us,  and  en- 
rich a  fund  for  taking  care  of  dis- 
charged industrious  prisoners  until 
such  time  as  they  can  soften  pre- 
judices and  obtain  lucrative  employ- 
ment. The  old  plan  was  to  kick  a 
prisoner  out  and  say  :  — 

"  There,  dog !  go  without  a  rap 
among  those  wlio  will  look  on  you  as 
a  dog  and  make  you  starve  or  steal. 
We  have  taught  you  no  lalH)r  but 
crank,  and,  as  there  are  no  cranks  in 
tlie  outside  world,  the  world  not  be- 
ing such  an  idiot  as  we  are,  you  must 
fill  your  belly  by  means  of  the  only 
other  thing  you  have  ever  been  taught, 
—  theft." 

Now  the  officers  take  leave  of  a  di.'^- 
eliarged  prisoner  in  English.  Fare- 
well ;  good  by  !  —  a  contiaction  for 
God  be  wi'  ye,  —  etc.  It  used  to  be 
in  French,  Sans  adieu!  an  revoir ! 
and  the  like. 

Having  passed  the  merry,  useful 
looms,  open  this  cell.  A  she-thief 
looks  up  with  an  eye  six  times  as  mel- 
low as  when  we  were  here  last.  She 
is  busy  gilding.     See  with  what  an 


adroit  and  delicate  touch  the  pde 
slips  the  long  s(|uare  knife  un<ler  the 
gossamer  gold-!caf  wliicli  she  li:is 
blown  gently  out  of  the  book,  —  and 
turns  it  over;  and  now  she  breathes 
gently  and  vertically  on  the  exact 
centre  of  it,  and  the  fragile  y<,'t  rebel- 
lious leaf  that  has  rolled  itself  np 
like  a  hedgehog  is  flattened  by  that 
human  zephyr  on  the  little  le.ithcrn 
easel.  Now  she  cuts  it  in  three  with 
vertical  blade  ;  now  she  takes  her  long 
flat  brush,  and  aj)ji!ies  it  to  her  own 
hair  once  or  twice  ;  strange  to  say, 
the  camel-hair  takes  from  this  contact 
a  soitpcon  of  some  very  slight  atid 
delicate  animal  oil,  which  enables  the 
brush  to  take  up  the  gold-leaf,  and  the 
artist  lays  a  square  of  gold  in  its 
place  on  the  plaster  hull  she  is  gild- 
ing. Said  l)ull  was  cast  in  the  prison 
by  another  female  prisoner,  who  at 
this  moment  is  preparing  a  green  ar- 
tificial meadow  for  the  animal  to  stand 
in.  These  two  girls  had  failed  at  the 
watchmaking.  They  had  sight  and 
the  fine  sensation  of  touch  required, 
but  they  lacked  the  caution,  patience, 
and  judgment  so  severe  an  art  de- 
manded ;  so  their  talents  were  di- 
rected elsewhere.  This  one  is  a  first- 
rate  gilder,  she  mistresscd  it  entirely 
in  three  days. 

The  last  thing  they  did  in  this  way 
was  an  elephant.  Cost  of  casting 
him,  reckoning:  labor  and  the  percent- 
age he  onuht  to  pay  to  the  mould, 
was  Is.  4d.  Plaster,  chrome,  water- 
size,  and  oil-size,  3d.  ;  gold-leaf  3s. ; 
1  foot  of  German  velvet  4d. ;  thread, 
needles,  and  wear  of  tools,  Id.  ;  total 
5s. 

Said  gold  elephant,  standing  on  a 
purple  cushion,  was  subjected  to  a  se- 
vere test  of  his  value,  lie  was  M-nt.to 
a  low  auction-room  in  London.  There 
he  fell  to  the  trade  at  18s.  This  was 
a  "knockout"  transaction;  twelve 
buyers  had  agreed  not  to  bid  a^'^aiiist 
one  another  in  the  auction-iooin,  a 
con.->piracy  illegal  bur  cu>tnmary. 
The  same  afternoon  these  twelve  held 
one  of  their  little  private  unlawful 
auctions  over  him  ;  here  the  bidding 


"IT   IS  N^^^^ER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEXD." 


235 


was  like  drops  of  blood  oozitifr  from 
flints,  hut  at  least  it  was  houajidn,  and 
lie  i\jse  to  25s.  The  seven  sliilling.> 
])iomium  was  divided  aiuon.y  the 
ckvcn  >h;u-|)ers.  Sharpci'  No.  12  car- 
ried him  home,  and  sold  him  the  very 
next  day  fur  37.s.  to  a  lady  who  lived 
in  Belgravia,  hut  shopped  in  filthy 
alleys,  misled  perhaps  by  the  phrase 
"  dirt  eheap." 

Mr.  Eden  conceived  him,  two  de- 
tected ones  made  iiim  at  a  cost  of  5s., 
twelve  undetected  ones  caught  him 
fir.-it  for  18s.,  and  now  he  stands  in 
Belgravia,  and  the  fair  ejaculate  over 
him,  "  What  a  duck  !  " 

The  ag:gret;ate  of  labor  to  make  and 
^ild  this  elephant  was  not  quite  one 
woman's  work  (12  hours).  Takini^ 
18s.  as  the  true  value  of  the  work,  — 
for  in  this  world  the  workman  has 
commonly  to  sell  his  production  un- 
der the  above  disadvantages,  forced 
sale  and  the  conspiracies  of  the  utiim- 
prisoncd. — we  have  still  13s.  for  a 
day's  work  by  a  woman. 

from  the  bull  greater  things  are 
expected.  The  cast  is  from  the  bull 
of  the  Vatican,  a  bull  true  to  nature, 
and  nature  adorned  the  very  mead- 
ows when  she  produced  the  bull. 
"What  a  magnificent  animal  is  a  bull ! 
what  a  dewlap !  what  a  front !  what 
clean  pasterns  !  what  fearless  eyes ! 
what  a  det'p  diapason  is  his  voice  1  of 
which  beholding  this  his  true  and 
massive  effigy  in Jail  we  are  re- 
minded. When  he  stands  muscular, 
majestic,  sonorous;  gold,  in  his  mead- 
ow ))ied  with  daisies,  it  shall  not  be 
"  sweet "  and  "  love  "  and  "  duck,"  — 
words  of  beauty  hut  no  earthly  sig- 
nification ;  it  shall  be,  "  There,  I  for- 
give Europa." 

And  need  I  say  there  was  more 
aimed  at  in  all  this  than  pecuniary 
profit  ?  Mr.  Eden  h(dd  that  the  love  of 
jiroduciion  is  the  natur.d  specific  anti- 
dote to  the  love  of  stealing.  He  kin- 
dLd  in  his  prisoners  the  love  of  pro- 
ducing, of  what  some  by  an  abuse 
of  lauLCuage  call  "creating."  And 
t';e  producers  rose  in  the  scale  of  hu- 
m.m  beings.     Tlieir  faces  showed  it. 


—  the  untamed  look  melted  away, — 
the  white  of  the  eye  showed  less,  and 
tiie  pupil  and  ins  more,  and  better 
(piality. 

Gold-leaf  when  first  laid  on  adheres 
in  visible  squares  with  uncouth  edges, 
a  ragged  affair  ;  then  the  gilder  takes 
a  camel-hair  brush,  and  under  its  light 
and  rapid  touch  the  work  changes  as 
under  a  diviner's  rod,  so  raj)iilly  and 
majesticall}'  come  beauty  and  finish 
over  it.  Perhaps  no  other  art  has  so 
delicious  a  one  minuti'as  this  is  to  the 
gilder.  The  first  Avork  our  jirisoner 
gilt  she  screamed  with  delight  several 
times  at  this  crisis.  She  begged  to 
have  the  work  left  in  her  cell  one  day 
at  least,  —  "  It  lights  up  the  cell  and 
lights  up  my  heart." 

"  Of  course  it  does,"  said  Mr. 
Eden.  "  Aha !  what,  there  are  greater 
pleasures  in  the  world  than  sinning, 
are  there'?"  —  "That  there  are.  1 
nevoi"  was  so  pleased  in  my  life.  May 
I  have  it  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

"  My  child,  you  shall  have  it  till 
its  place  is  taken  by  others  like  it. 
Keep  it  before  your  eyes,  feed  on  it, 
and  ask  yourself  which  is  the  best,  — 
to  work  and  add  something  useful 
or  beautiful  to  the  world's  material 
wealth,  or  to  steal ;  to  be  a  little  ben- 
efactor to  your  kind  and  yourself,  or 
a  little  vermin  preying  on  the  indus- 
trious. Which  IS  best  ?  "  —  "I  'II 
never  take  while  I  can  make." 

This  is  of  course  but  a  single  speci- 
men out  of  scores.  To  follow  Mr. 
Eden  from  cell  to  cell,  from  mind  to 
mind,  from  sex  to  sex,  would  take 
volumes  and  volumes.  I  only  profess 
to  reveal  fragments  of  such  a  man. 
He  never  hoped  from  the  mere  separate 
cell  the  wonders  that  dreamers  hope. 
It  was  essential  to  the  reform  of  pris- 
oners that  moral  contagion  should  be 
checkmated,  and  the  cell  was  the 
mode  adopted,  because  it  is  the  laziest, 
cheapest,  selfishest,  and  crudest  way 
of  doing  this.  That  no  discretion 
was  allowed  him  to  let  the  converted 
or  the  well-disposed  mix  and  sympa- 
thize, and  compare  notes,  and  confirm 
each  other  in  good  under  a  watchful 


236 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD.' 


officer's  eye,  this  he  thought  a  fright- 
ful blunder  of  the  system. 

(ieueraily  he  held  tlie  good  efFoct  of 
separate  contiiienient  to  be  merely 
negative;  he  laughed  to  scorn  the 
chimera  that  solitude  is  an  active 
agent,  capable  of  converting  a  roj^ue. 
Shut  a  rogue  from  rogues  and  let 
honest  men  in  upon  him,  —  the  honest 
men  get  a  good  cfianceto  convert  him, 
but  if  they  do  succeed  it  was  not  soli- 
tude tiiat  converted  him,  but  healing 
contact.  The  moments  that  most 
good  comes  to  him  are  the  moments 
his  solitude  is  broken. 

He  used  to  say  solitude  will  cow  a 
rogue  and  suspend  his  overt  acts  of 
theft  by  force,  and  so  make  him  to  a 
non-rertector  seem  no  longer  a  thief; 
but  the  notion  of  the  cell  effecting 
permanent  cures  might  honestly  be 
worded  thus  :  "  I  am  a  lazy  self-deceiv- 
er, and  want  to  do  by  machinery  and 
without  personal  fiitigue  what  St. 
Paul  could  only  do  by  working  with 
all  his  heart,  with  all  his  time,  with  all 
his  wit,  with  all  his  soul,  with  all  his 
strength,  and  with  all  himself."  Or 
thus  :  "  Confine  the  leopards  in  sep- 
arate cages,  Jock  ;  the  carjes  will  take 
their  spots  out  while  ye  're  sleeping." 

Generally  this  was  Mr.  Eden's  the- 
ory of  the  cell,  —  a  check  to  further 
contamination,  but  no  more.  He 
even  saw  in  the  cell  much  positive  ill 
which  he  set  himself  to  qualify. 

"  Separate  confinement  breeds  mon- 
strous egotism,"  said  he,  "  and  ego- 
tism hardens  the  heart.  You  can't 
make  any  man  good  if  you  never  let 
him  say  a  kind  word  or  do  an  unself- 
ish action  to  a  fellow-creature.  Man 
is  an  acting  animal.  His  real  moral 
character  all  lies,  in  his  actions,  and 
none  of  it  in  liis  dreams  or  cogita- 
tions. Moral  stagnation  or  cessation 
of  all  bad  acts  and  of  all  good  acts 
is  a  state  on  the  borders  of  every  vice 
and  a  million  miles  from  virtue." 

His  reverence  attacked  the  petrifac- 
tion and  egotism  of  the  separate  cell 
as  far  as  the  shallow  system  of  this 
prison  let  him.  First,  he  encouraged 
prisoners  to  write  their  lives  for  the 


use  of  the  prison  ;  these  were  weeded 
if  necessary  (the  editor  was  strong- 
minded  and  did  not  weed  out  the  red 
poppies),  printed,  and  circulated  in 
the  jail.  The  writer's  nuiiil)er  was 
printcfl  at  tlie  foot  if  he  ])leased,  but 
never  his  name.  Biography  begot  a 
world  of  sympathy  in  the  prison. 
Second,  he  talked  to  one  prisoner  ac- 
quainted with  another  prisoner's  char- 
acter, talked  about  No.  80  to  No.  60, 
and  would  sometimes  say  :  "  Now, 
could  you  give  No.  60  any  good  ad- 
vice on  this  point  ?  " 

Then,  if  8()'s  advice  was  good,  he 
would  carry  it  to  60,  and  60  would 
think  all  tlie  more  of  it  that  it  came 
from  one  of  his  fellows. 

Then  in  matters  of  art  he  would 
carry  the  difficulties  of  a  beginner  or 
a  bungler  to  a  proficient,  and  the  lat- 
ter would  help  the  former.  The 
pleasure  of  being  kind  on  one  side, 
a  touch  of  gratitude  on  the  other, 
seeds  of  interest  and  sympathy  in 
both.  Then  such  as  had  produced 
pretty  things  were  encouraged  to  lend 
them  to  other  cells  to  adorn  them  and 
stimulate  the  occupants. 

For  instance,  No.  140,  who  gilded 
the  bull,  was  reminded  that  No.  120, 
who  had  cast  him,  had  never  had  the 
pleasure  of  setting  him.,  on  her  table 
in  her  gloomy  cell,  and  so  raising  its 
look  from  dungeon  to  workshop. 
Then  No.  140  said  :  "  Poor  No.  120  ! 
that  is  not  fair ;  she  shall  have  him 
half  the  day  or  more  if  you  like,  sir." 

Thus  a  grain  of  self-denial,  justice, 
and  charity  was  often  drawn  into  the 
heart  of  a  cell  through  the  very  key- 
hole. 

No.  19,  Robinson,  did  many  a  lit- 
tle friendly  office  for  other  figures,  re- 
ceived their  thanks,  and,  above  all, 
obliging  these  figures  warmed  and 
softened  his  own  heart. 

You  might  hear  such  dialogues  as 
this  :  No.  24.  "  And  how  is  poor 
old  No.  50  to-day?"  (Strutt.)  — 
Mr.  Eden.  "  Much  the  same  " 

No.  24.  "  Do  you  think  you  will 
bring  him  round,  sir?" — ^Ir.  Kden. 
"  I  have  great  hopes ;  he  is  much  im- 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


237 


proved  since  he  had  the  garden  and 
the  violin." 

No.  24.  "  Will  you  give  him  my 
compliments,  sir  ?  No.  24's  compli- 
ments, and  tell  him  I  bid  him  'never 
say  die  '  '^  " 

Mr.  Eden.  "  Well,  how  are  you 
tliis  morning ?  "  —  "I  am  a  little  bet- 
tt'r,  sir.  This  room  (the  intirmary) 
is  so  sweet  and  airy,  and  they  give  me 
precious  nice  things  to  eat  and  drink." 

"  Are  tlie  nurses  kind  to  you  V  — 
"  That  they  are,  sir,  kinder  than  I 
deserv^e." 

"  1  have  a  message  for  you  from 
No.  —  on  your  corridor."  —  "  No  ! 
liave  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  sends  his  best  wishes  for  your 
recovery."  —  "  Now  that  is  very  good 
of  him.'" 

"  And  he  would  be  very  glad  to 
hear  from  yourself  how  you  feel."  — 
"  Well,  sir,  you  tell  him  I  am  a  trifle 
better,  and  God  bless  him  for  troubling 
his  head  about  me." 

In  short,  his  reverence  reversed  the 
Ilawes  system.  Under  th:it  a  prison- 
er was  divested  of  humanity  and  be- 
came a  number,  and  wlien  he  fell  sick 
the  sentiment  created  was,  "  The  fig- 
ure written  on  the  floor  of  that  cell 
looks  faint."  When  he  died  or  was 
murdered,  "  There  is  such  and  such  a 
figure  rubbed  ofi^our  slate." 

Mr.  Eden  made  these  figures  signi- 
fy flesh  and  blood  even  to  those  who 
never  saw  their  human  faces.  When 
he  had  softened  a  prisoner's  heart, 
then  he  laid  the  deeper  truths  of 
Christianity  to  that  heart.  They  would 
not  adhere  to  ice  or  stone  or  brass. 
He  knew,  that,  till  he  had  taught  a  man 
to  love  his  brother  whom  he  had  seen, 
he  could  never  make  him  love  God 
Avhom  he  has  not  seen.  To  vary  the 
metaphor  his  plan  was,  first  warm 
and  soften  your  wax,  then  begin  to 
•shape  it  after  heaven's  pattern.  The 
old-fashioned  way  is  freeze,  petrif}'-, 
and  mould  your  wax  by  a  sinj^le  pro- 
cess. Not  that  he  was  mawkish.  No 
man  rel)uked  sin  more  terribly  than 
•he  often  I'ebuked  it  in  many  of  these 
cells ;  and,  when  he  did  so,  see  what 


he  gained  by* the  personal  kindness 
that  preceded  these  terrible  rebukes  ! 
The  rogue  said :  ''  Wiiat !  is  it  so 
bad  tiiat  his  reverence,  who  I  know 
has  a  regard  for  me,  rebukes  me  for 
it  like  tliis  ?  —  why,  it  must  be  bad 
indeed  !  " 

A  loving  friend's  rebuke  is  a  rebuke, 

—  sinks  into  the  heart,  and  convinces 
the  judgment;  an  enemy's  or  stran- 
ger's rel)uke  is  invective,  and  irritates, 

—  not  converts.  The  great  vire  of 
the  new  prisons  is  general  self  decep- 
tion varied  by  downright  calculating 
hypocrisy.  A  shallow  zealot  like  Mr. 
Lcpel  is  sure  to  drive  the  prisoners  in- 
to one  or  other  of  these.  It  Avas  Mr. 
Eden's  struggle  to  keep  them  out  of  it. 
He  froze  cant  in  the  bud.  Puritani- 
cal burglars  tried  Scriptural  phrases 
on  hiiu  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  they 
soon  found  it  was  the  very  worst  lay 

they  could  get  upon  in Jail.    The 

notion  that  a  man  can  jump  from  the 
depths  of  vice  up  to  the  climax  of 
righteous  habits,  spiritual-mindeilness, 
at  one  leap,  shocked  his  sense  and  ter- 
rified him  for  the  daring  dogs  tfiat 
profess  these  saltatory  powers,  and 
the  geese  that  believe  it.  He  said  to 
such  :  "  Let  me  see  you  crawl  heaven- 
wards first,  then  walk  heavenwards  : 
it  will  be  time  enough  to  soar  when 
you  have  lived  soberly,  honestly,  pious- 
ly a  year  or  two  ;  not  here,  where  you 
are  tied  hands,  feet,  and  tongue,  but 
free  among  the  Avorld's?  tempt.itions. 
He  had  no  blind  confidence  in  learned- 
l)y-heart  texts.  "  Many  a  scoundrel 
has  a  good  memory,"  said  he. 

Here  he  was  quite  opposed  to  his 
friend  Lepel.  This  gentleman  attrib- 
uted a  sort  of  physical  virtue  to  Holy 
Writ  poured  anyhow  into  a  human 
vessel.  His  plan  of  making  a  thief 
honest  will  appear  incredible  to  a  more 
enlightened  age  ;  yet  it  is  widely  ac- 
cepted now,  and  its  advocates  call  Mr. 
Eden  a  dreamer.  It  was  this :  he 
came  into  a  cell  cold  and  st-  rn  and  set 
the  roLTues  a  lot  of  texts.  Those  that 
learned  a  great  many  he  called  good 
jn-isoners,  and  those  that  learned  few, 
black  sheep  ;  and  the  prisoners  soon 


238 


IS   NEVER   TOO 


found  out  that  their  life,  bitter  as  it 
■was,  would  he  hittercr  if  they  did  not 
look  sharp  and  learn  a  <iO(»d  many 
texts.  So  they  learned  lots, — and 
the  slyest  scimndrels  learned  tlie  most. 
"  Why  not  1  "  said  they,  "  in  these 
cursed  holes  we  have  nothing  better 
to  do  ;  and  it  is  the  only  way  to  get/ 
the  parson's  good  word";  and  thajf 
is  always  worth  having  in  jail. 

One  rogue  on  getting  out  explained 
his  knowledge  of  five  hundred  texts 
thus  :  "  What  did  it  hurt  me  learn- 
ing texts  1  I  'd  just  as  lieve  be  learn 
ing  texts  as  turning  a  crank,  and  as 
soon  he  d — d  as  cither." 

This  fellow  had  been  one  of  ^Ir. 
Lepel's  sucking  saints,  —  a  sliow  pris 
oner.  The  BiMe  and  brute  force, — 
how  odd  they  sound  together  !  Yet 
such  was  the  Lepel  system,  humbug 
apart.  Put  a  thief  in  a  press  between 
an  Old  Testament  and  a  New  Testa- 
ment :  turn  the  screw,  crush  the  texts 
in,  and  the  rogue's  vices  out!  Con- 
version made  easy !  What  wonder 
he  opposes  cunning  cloaked  with  re- 
ligion to  brutality  cloaked  under  re- 
ligion'? Ay,  brutality,  and  laziness, 
and  selfishness,  all  these  are  the  true 
foundation  of  that  system.  Selfish- 
ness,—  for  sueh  a  man  won't  do  any- 
thing he  does  not  like.  No  !  "  Why 
should  I  make  myself  '  all  things  to 
all  men,'  .to  save  a  soul  ?  I  will  save 
them  this  one  way  or  none,  —  this  is 
my  way  ami  they  shall  all  come  to  it," 
says  the  Reverend  Procrustes,  forget- 
ting that,  if  the  heart  is  not  won,  in 
vain  is  the  will  crushed;  or  perhaps  not 
caring,  so  that  he  gets  his  own  way. 

To  work  on  Mr.  Eden's  plan  is  a 
hereulean  etf  irr  day  by  day  repeated  ; 
but  to  set  texts  is  easy,  easier  even 
than  to  learn  tlum ;  and  how  easy 
that  is  appears  from  the  multitude  of 
incuraMe  felons  who  have  swapped 
texts  for  tickets-of-leave.  Messii-urs 
I.epel,  who  teach  solitary  depressed 
sinners  the  Bible  with  screw  and  lifted 
Jash,  and  no  love  nor  pity,  a  word  in 
your  ear.  Begin  a  step  higher.  Go 
first  to  some  charitable  priest  and  at 
his  feet  learn  that  Bible  yourselves  ! 


LATE   TO   MEXD." 

Forgive  my  heat,  dear  reader.  I 
\m  not  an  Eden,  and  these  fellows 
ile  me,  when  I  think  of  the  good 
hey  might  do,  and  they  do  nothing 
l»ut  force  hypocrisy  upon  men  who 
were  bad  enough  witiiout  that.  I  al- 
low a  certain  latitude,  don't  want  to 
swim  in  hot  water  by  (juarrelling  with 
every  madman  or  every  dunce,  hut  I 
do  doubt  any  man's  right  to  combine 
contradictory  vices.  Now  these  wor- 
thies arc  stui>id  yet  wild,  thick-headed 
yet  delirious,  —  tortoises  and  March 
iiares. 

My  sketch  of  Mr.  Eden  and  his 
wtiys  is  feeble  and  unworthy.  But  I 
conclude  it  with  one  master-stroke  of 
eulogy,  —  he  was  the  opposite  of 
these  men. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

We  left  Thomas  Robinson  writing 
his  life.  He  has  written  it.  It  has 
heen  printed  by  prisoners  and  circulat- 
ed among  prisoners.  One  copy  lay  in 
Robinson's  cell,  till  he  left  the  prison, 
and  to  this  copy  were  appended  Mr. 
Eden's  remarks  in  MS. 

This  autobiography  is  a  self-dra^^^l 
portrait  of  a  true  Bohemian  and  his 
mind,  from  boyhood  up  to  the  date 
when  he  fell  into  my  hands. 

Unfortunately  we  cannot  afford  so 
late  in  our  story  to  make  any  retro- 
grade step.  The  "  Autobiography  of 
a  Thief  "  must  therelore  be  thrust  into 
my  Appendix  or  printed  elsewhere. 
i'  The  reader  has  seen  Robinson 
turned  to  a  fiend  by  cruelty,  and 
turned  back  to  a  man  by  human- 
ity. 

On  this,  followed  many  sacred,  soft- 
ening, improving  lessons,  and  as  he 
loved  Mr.  Eden  his  heart  was  open  to 
them. 

Most  prisoners  are  very  sensible  of 
genuine  kindness,  and  docile  as  wax 
in  the  hands  of  those  who  show  it. 
They  arc  the  easiest  class  in  the  world 
to  imi)ress;  the  dilficulty  is  to  make 
the  impression  permanent.  But  the 
people  who  pretend  to  you  that  kind. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


2o0 


ness  docs  not  crrcatly  alFect,  ptrsuade, 
and  he!))  convince  them,  have  nev- 
er TRIED  ANYTHING  BUT  BRUTAL- 
ITY", and  never  will  ;  for  nothing 
greater,  wiser,  or  hctter  is  in  them. 

1  will  now  indicate  the  otiier  ])hases 
throuuh  which  liis  mind  passed  in 
Jail. 

Bein;:^  shown  that  his  crimes  were, 
virtually,  the  cause  of  Mary's  liaplesa 
life  and  untimely  death,  and  hanl 
{)ressed  by  his  father  confessor,  he  fell 
into  reli;^ious  despondency  ;  believed 
liis  case  desperate,  and  his  sins  too 
many  for  Heaven's  mercy. 

Of  all  states  of  mind,  this  was  tlic 
one  Mr.  Eden  most  dreaded.  He  had 
observed  that  the  notion  they  cannot 
be  reconciled  to  God  and  man  is  the 
cause  of  prisoners'  recklessness,  and 
one  great  means  by  which  jail  officers 
and  society,  England  a.  d.  185-,  con- 
firm them  in  ill. 

He  soothed  and  cheered  the  poor 
fellow  with  many  a  hopeful  message 
from  the  Gospel  of  mercy,  and  soon 
drew  him  out  of  the  Slough  of  De- 
spond, but  he  drew  him  out  with  so 
eager  an  arm  that  np  went  this  im- 
pressionable personage  from  despond 
to  the  fifth  heaven.  He  w;is  penitent, 
forgiven,  justified,  sanctified,  all  in 
three  weeks. 

Moreover,  he  now  fell  into  a  cer- 
tain foul  habit.  Of  course  Scripture 
formed  a  portion  of  his  daily  reading 
and  discourse  with  the  chaplain  ; 
Eobinson  had  a  memory  that  seized 
and  kept  everything  like  a  vice,  so 
now  a  text  occurred  to  him  for  every 
occasion,  and  he  interwove  them  with 
all  his  t:ilk.  Your  shallow  observers 
would  have  said,  "  What  a  hypo- 
crite!" • 

Not  a  hypocrite,  O  Criticaster,  but 
a  chameleon,  who  had  been  months 
out  of  the  atmosphere  of  vice,  and  in 
an  atmosphere  of  religion. 

His  reverence  broke  him  of  this 
nasty  habit  of  chattering  Bible,  nnd 
generally  cooled  him  down.  Finally, 
he  became  sober,  ])enitent  for  his  past 
life,  and  firmly  resolved  to  lead  a  bet- 
ter.    With  this  began  to  mingle  ambi- 


tion to    lise  very  high  in  the  world, 
and  a  violent  impatience  to  begin. 

Through  all  these  phases  ran  one 
excellent  and  saving  thing,  a  genu- 
ine attachment  to  his  good  Irieud  the 
chaplain.  The  attachment  was  re- 
ciprocal, and  there  was  something 
touching  in  the  friendship  of  two  men 
so  difierent  in  mind  and  worldly  sta- 
tion. But  they  had  suffered  together. 
And,  indeed,  a  nmch  more  depraved 
])risoncr  than  Eol)inson  would  have 
loved  such  a  benefactor  and  biothcr 
as  Eden  ;  and  many  a  scoundrel  in 
this  place  did  love  him  as  well  as  lie 
could  love  anything  ;  and  as  to  the 
other,  the  clew  to  liim  is  sim})le. 
While  the  vulgar,  self-deceiving  mor- 
alist loathes  ilie  detected  ciiminal,  and 
never  (whatever  he  may  think)  really 
rises  to  the  abhoirence  of  crime,  the  j 
saint  makes  two  steps  upwards  to-  j 
wards  the  mind  of  Heaven  itself,  ah-  ' 
hors  crime,  and  loves,  pities,  and  will  ■ 
not  despair  of  the  criminal. 

But,  besides  this,  Bobinson  was  an 
engaging  fellow,  full  of  thought,  and 
fidl  of  facts,  and  the  Reverend  Francis 
Tender-Conscience  often  spent  an  ex- 
tra five  minutes  in  his  cell,  and  then  re- 
proach.ed  himself  foi»  letting  the  more 
interesting  jKrsonage  rob  other  de- 
pressed and  thirsty  souls  of  those  drops 
of  dew. 

One  day  Mr.  Eden,  wlio  had  just  en- 
tered the  cell,  said  to  Bobinson  :  "  Give 
me  your  hand.  It  is  as  I  feared  ; 
your  nerves  are  going."  —  "  Aie 
they  '^  "  said  Bobinson,  ruefully. 

"  Do  you  not  observe  that  you  are 
becoming  tremulous ?  "  —  "I  notice 
that,  when  my  door  is  opened  sud- 
denly, it  makes  me  shake  a  little,  and 
twitches  come  in  my  thigh." 

"  I  feared  as  much,  it  is  not  every 
man  that  can  bear  separate  confine- 
ment for  twelve  months  ;  you  cannot." 
—  "I  shall  have  to,  whether  1  can  or 
not."  — "Will  you?" 

Three  days  after  this  Mr.  Eden 
came  into  his  cell  and  said  with  a  sad 
smile:  "I  have  good  news  lor  you; 
you  are  going  to  leave  me."  —  "O 
your  reverence  !  is  that  good  news  1  '* 


240 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"  Those  who  have  the  disposal  of 
you  are  l)e}i^inniii^^  to  see  that  all  ptin- 
islitncnt  (excL'pt  lian-iii;j:)  is  for  tlie 
welfare  of  the  eiilprit,  and  must  never 
be  allowed  to'injure  him.  Strutt  left 
tlie  prison  for  my  house  a  fortrii<;ht 
ago,  and  you  are  to  cross  tlie  \vater 
nt'xt  weelc."  —  "  O  your  reverence  ! 
Heaven  forj^ive  me  for  feelin<^  ghid." 
— "  For  being  human,  eh,  my  poor 
fellow  ?  " 

In  the  course  of  tliis  conversation 
Mr.  Eden  frankly  rej^retted  that  Rob- 
inson was  going  so  soon.  "  Four 
months  more  prison  would  have  made 
you  safer,  and  1  would  have  kept  you 
here  till  the  last  minute  of  your  sen- 
tence for  the  good  of  your  soul,"  said 
he,  grimly  ;  "  hut  your  body  and  nerves 
mi^ht  have  suffered,"  added  he, tender- 
ly ;  "  we  must'do  all  for  the  best." 

A  light  burst  on  Kobinson.  "  Why, 
your  reverence,"  cried  he,  "  is  it  for 
fear  ?  Why,  you  don't  ever  think 
that  I  shall  turn  rogue  again  after  I 
get  out  of  prison  ?  "  —  "  You  are 
going  among  a  thousand  tempta- 
tions." 

"  What !  do  you  really  think  all 
your  kindness  has  been  wasted  on 
me  ?  Why,  sir,  #  a  thousand  pounds 
lay  there,  I  would  not  stretch  out  my 
hand  to  take  one  that  did  not  belong 
to  me.  How  ungrateful  you  mu^t 
think  me,  and  what  a  fool  into  the 
bar;::ain,  after  all  my  experience  !  "-^ 
"  Ungrutelul  you  are  not,  but  you  are 
naturally  a  fool, — a  weak,  flexible 
fool :  a  man  with  a  tenth  of  your  gifts 
would  lead  you  by  the  nose  into 
temptation.  But  I  warn  you,  if  you 
fall  now,  conscience  will  prick  you  as 
it  never  yet  has  ;  you  will  be  misera- 
l)le  ;  and  yet,  though  miserable,  per- 
haps will  never  rise  again,  for  remorse 
is  not  penitence." 

Robinson  was  so  hurt  at  this  want 
of  confidence  th;it  he  said  nothing  in 
reply,  and  then  Mr.  Eden  felt  sorry 
he  had  said  so  much,  "  For,  after  all," 
thought  he,  "  these  are  mere  misgiv- 
ings ;  by  uttering  them  1  only  pain 
him  :  I  can't  make  him  share  them  : 
let  me  think  what  1  can  do."  I 


That  very  day  he  wrote  to  Susan 
IMerton.  The  letter  contained  the 
following  :  "  Thoinas  Robinson  goes 
to  Australia  next  week  ;  he  will  get  a 
ticket-of-leave  almost  immediately  on 
landing.  lam  in  great  anxiity;  he 
is  full  of  good  resolves,  but  his  nature 
is  unstable,  yet  I  should  not  fear  to 
trust  him  anywhere  if  I  could  but 
choose  his  associates.  In  this  diffi- 
culty I  have  thought  of  George  Field- 
ing. You  know  I  can  read  charac- 
ters, and,  though  you  never  sutnmed 
George  up  to  me,  his  saying's  and 
doings  reveal  him  to  me.  He  is  a 
man  in  whom  honesty  is  ingrained. 
Poor  Roljinson  with  such  a  companion 
would  be  as  honest  as  the  day,  and  a 
useful  friend,  for  he  is  full  of  re- 
sources. Then,  dear  friend,  will  you 
do  a  C'hristian  act  and  come  to  our  aid  ? 
I  want  you  to  write  a  note  to  Mr. 
FieldinLc,  and  let  this  poor  fellow  take 
it  to  him.  Armed  Avith  this  my  con- 
vert will  not  be  shy  of  approaching 
the  honest  man,  and  the  exile  will 
not  hate  me  for  this  trick,  —  will  he  ? 
I  send  you  enclosed  the  poor  clever 
fool's  life  written  by  himself,  and 
printed  by  my  girls.  Read  it  and  tell 
me  are  we  wrotig  in  making  every 
effort  to  save  such  a  man  ?  "  etc. 

By  return  of  post  camC  a  reply  from 
Susan  ]\Ierton,  full  of  pity  for  Robin- 
son and  affectionate  zeal  to  co-oper- 
ate in  any  way  with  her  friend.  En- 
closed was  a  letter  addressed  to  George 
Fielding,  the  envelope  not  closed. 
Mr.  Eden  slipped  in  a  bank-note  and 
a  very  small  envelope  and  closed  it, 
placed  it  in  a  larger  envelope,  sealed 
that,  and  copied  the  first  address  on 
its  cover. 

He  now  gave  Robinson  more  of  his 
time  than  ever,*and  seemed  to  cling  to 
him  with  almost  a  motherly  apprehen- 
sion. Robins(jn  noticed  it  and  felt  it 
very,  very  much,  and  his  joy  at  get- 
ting out  of  prison  oozed  away  more 
and  more  as  the  day  drew  near. 

That  day  came  at  last.  Robin.son 
was  taken  by  Evans  to  the  chap- 
lain's room  to  bid  him  farewell.  He 
foy^  him  walking  about   the   room 


IT  IS  KEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   ME2sD." 


241 


in  deep  thouc:bt.  "  Eolnnson,  when 
you  are  thousands  of  miles  from  nie, 
bear  tliis  in  mind,  tliat  if  you  fall  iigain 
you  will  break  my  heart."  —  "I  know 
it,  sir  ;  1  know  it ;  for  you  would  say, 
•  If  I  could  not  save  him,  who  can  I 
hope  to  ?  '  " 

"  You  would  not  like  to  break  my 
heart,  —  to  discourage  your  friend 
and  brother  in  the  good  work,  the 
ditticult  work?"  —  "I  would  rather 
die  ;  if  it  is  to  be  so,  I  pray  Heaven  to 
strike  me  dead  in  this  room  while  I 
am  Ht  to  die  !  " 

"  Don't  say  that ;  live  to  repair 
your  crimes,  and  to  make  me  prouder 
of  you  than  a  mother  of  her  first- 
born." He  paused  and  walked  the 
room  in  silence.  Presently  he  stopped 
in  front  of  Robinson.  "  You  have  of- 
ten said  you  owed  me  something."  — 
"  My  life  and  my  soul's  salvation," 
was  the  instant  reply. 

"  I  ask  a  return ;  square  the  account 
with  me."  —  "  That  1  can  never  do." 

"  You  can  !  I  will  take  two  favors 
in  return  for  all  you  say  I  have  done 
for  you.  No  idle  words,  but  yes  or 
no,  upon  your  honor.  Will  you  grant 
them  or  won't  you  1  "  —  "1  will,  up- 
on my  honor." 

*'  One  is  that  you  will  pray  very  of- 
ten, not  only  morning  and  evening  but 
at  sunset,  at  that  dangerous  hour  to 
you  wher>  evil  association  begins ;  at 
tliat  hour  honest  men  retire  out  of 
sight  and  rogues  come  abroad  like 
vermin  and  wild  beasts;  but  most  of 
all  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  a 
temptation  comes,  near  you,  at  that 
moment  pray !  Don't  wait  to  see 
how  strong  the  temptation  is,  and 
whether  you  can't  conquer  it  without 
help  from  above.  At  the  sight  of  an 
enemy,  put  on  heavenly  armor,  — 
pray  I  Ko  need  to  kneel  or  to  go 
apart.  Two  words  secretly  cast 
heavenwards.  'Lord,  help  me,'  are 
prayer.  Will  you  so  pray  ?  "  — 
"  Yes  ! " 

"  Then  give  me  your  hand  ;  here  is 

a  plain  gold  ring  to  recall  this  sacred 

promise  ;  put  it  on,  wear  it,  and  look 

at  it,  and  never  lose  it  or  forget  your 

11 


promise."  —"  Them  that  take  it  must 
cut  my  hand  off" with  it." 

"  Enough,  it  is  a  promise.  My 
second  request  is  that  the  moment  you 
are  free  you  will  go  and  stay  with  an 
honest  man."  — "I  ask  no  better,  sir, 
if  he  will  have  me." 

•'  George  Fielding ;  he  has  a  fitrra 
near  Bathurst."  —  "  George  Fielding, 
sir  ?  He  affronted  me  when  I  was  in 
trouble.  It  was  no  more  than  I  de- 
served. I  forgive  him  ;  but  you  don't 
know  the  lad,  sir.  He  would  not 
speak  to  me  ;  he  would  not  look  at 
me.  He  would  turn  his  back  on  me 
if  we  ran  against  one  another  in  a 
wilderness." 

"  Here  is  a  talisman  that  will  in- 
sure you  a  welcome  from  him,  —  a 
letter  from  the  Avoman  he  loves. 
Come,  yes  or  no  ?  "  —  "I  will,  sir,  for 
your  sake,  not  for  theirs.  Sir,  do  pray 
give  me  something  harder  to  do  for 
you  than  these  two  things  !  " 

"  No,  I  won't  overweight  you, 
nor  encumber  your  memory  with 
pledges,  —  these  two  and  no  more. 
And  here  we  part.  See  what  it  is  to 
sin  against  society.  I  whom  your 
conversation  has  so  interested,  to 
whom  your  company  is  so  afjreeable, 

—  in  one  word,  1  who  love  you,  can 
find  no  kinder  word  to  say  to  you  to- 
day than  this,  —  let  me  never  see  your 
face  again,  —  let  me  never  hear  your 
name  in  this  world  !  " 

His  voice  trembled  as  he  said  these 
words,  and  he  wrung  Robinson's 
hand,  and  Robinson  groaned  and 
turned  away. 

"  So  now  I  can  do  no  more  for  you, 

—  I  must  leave  the  rest  to  God." 
And  with  these  words,  for  the  second 
time  in  their  acquaintance,  the  good 
soul  kneeled  down  and  prayed  aloud 
for  this  man.  And  this  time  he 
prayed  at  length  with  ardor  and  ten- 
derness unspeakable.  He  prayed  as 
for  a  brother  on  the  brink  of  a  preci- 
pice. He  wrestled  with  Heaven ;  and 
ere  he  concluded  he  heard  a  subdued 
sound  near  him,  and  it  was  poor  Rob- 
inson, who  touched  and  penetrated  by 
such  angelic  love,  and  awe-struck  to 


> 


242 


"IT  IS  XEVEK  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


hear  a  good  njtjn  pour  out  his  very 
soul  at  the  nicrcy-seat  of  heaven,  hail 
crept  timidly  to  his  side  and  knelt 
there,  bearinij  his  mute  part  in  this 
fervent  su[)plieation. 

As  Mr.  Eden  rose  from  ],'•  knees, 
Evans  knoeked  gently  at  the  door : 
he  had  been  waiting  some  minutes, 
but  had  heard  the  voice  of  pr.Mver  and 
reverently  forbore  to  interruj*  it.  At 
his  knock  the  priest  and  t:ie  thief 
started.  The  priest  suddeidy  held 
out  both  his  hands ;  the  thief  bowed 
his  head  and  kissed  them  many  times, 

]     and  on  this  they  parted  hastily  with 
(      swelling  hearts  and  not  another  word, 

""  — except  the  thousands  that  their 
moist  eyes  exchanged  in  one  single 
look,  —  the  last. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  ship  was  to  sail  in  a  week,  and 
meantime  Robinson  was  in  the  hulks 
at  Portsmouth.  Now  the  hulks  are  a 
disgrace  to  Europe,  and  a  most  in- 
coniiTuous  appendage  to  a  system  that 
professes  to  cure  l)y  separate  confine- 
ment. One  or  t\vo«of  the  worst  con- 
victs made  tlie  usual  overtures  of  evil 
companionship  to  Rohinson.  These 
were  coldly  declines] ;  and  it  was  a 
good  sign  til  at  Robinson,  being  per- 
mitted by  the  regulations  to  wiite  one 
letter,  did  not  write  to  any  of  his  old 
pals  in  London  or  elsewhere,  but  to 
Mr.  Eden.  He  told  him  that  he  re- 
gretted his  quiet  cell,  wlicre  his  ears 
were  never  invaded  witli  blasphemy 
and  indecency,  things  he  never  took 
pleasure  in  even  at  his  worsr. — and 
misse<l  his  reverence's  talk  sadly.  He 
concluded  by  asking  for  some  good 
books  by  way  of  antidote. 

He  received  no  answer  while  at 
Portsmouth,  but,  the  vessel  having 
sailed  and  lying  two  days  off  Plymouth, 
his  name  was  called  just  before  she 
weighed  again  and  a  thick  letter  hand- 
ed to  him.  He  opened  it  eagerly  and 
two  things  fell  on  the  deck,  —  a  sov- 
ereiga  and  a  tract.    The  sovereiga 


rolled  off  and  made  for  the  sea.  Rob- 
inson darted  after  it  and  saved  it  from 
tlie  dee])  and  the  surrouniiiiig  rogues. 
Then  lie  read  a  letter  which  was  also 
in  the  enclosure.  It  was  short :  in  it 
Mr.  Eden  told  him  he  had  sent  him 
the  last  tract  printed  in  the  prison. 
"  It  is  called  '  The  Wages  of  Sin  are 
Death.'  It  is  not  the  same  one  you 
made  into  cards ;  that  being  out  of 
print  and  the  author  dead,  I  have  been 
tempted  by  that  good,  true  title  to 
write  another.  I  tliink  you  wiU  value 
it  none  the  less  for  being  written  by 
me  and  printed  by  our  brothers  and 
sisters  in  this  place.  I  enclose  one 
pound,  that  you  may  not  be  tempted 
for  want  of  a  shilling." 

Robinson  looked  round  for  the 
tract ;  it  was  not  to  be  seen  ;  nobody 
had  seen  it.  N.  B.  It  had  been 
through  a  dozen  light-fingered  han^ls 
already  and  was  now  beini;  laui^^hed 
at  and  blasphemed  over  by  two  tilt  by 
ruffians  behind  a  barrel  on  the  lower 
deck.  Robinson  was  first  in  a  fury, 
and  then,  when  he  found  it  was  really 
stolen  from  him,  he  was  very  much 
cut  up.  "  I  wish  I  had  lifted  it  and 
let  the  money  roll.  However," 
thought  he,  "  if  I  keep  quiet  I  shall 
hear  of  it." 

He  did  hear  of  it,  hut  he  never 
saw  it  ;  for  one  of  these  hardened 
creatures  that  had  got  held  of  it 
had  a  spite  against  Robinson  for  re- 
fusing his  prolfeivd  amity,  and  the 
malicious  dog  after  keeping  it  sev- 
eral hours,  hearing  .Robin-on  threat- 
en to  inform  against  Nvhoever  had 
taken  it,  ra  id«  himself  safe  and  grati- 
fied his  spite  by  Hinging  it  into  the 
Channel. 

This  too  came  in  due  course  to  Rob- 
inson's ears.  He  moralized  on  it. 
"  I  made  the  first  into  the  Devil's 
books,"  said  he,  "  and  now  a  child  of 
the  Devil  luvs  roblx'd  me  of  the  second. 
I  sha'  n't  get  a  third  cliaiue.  I  would 
I  give  my  sovereign  and  more  to  see 
what  his  reverence  says  about  '  The 
wages  of  sin  are  death.'  The  very 
title  is  a  sermon.  I  i)ray  Heaven  the 
dirty  hand  that  robbed  mo  of  it  may 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE 


rot  off  at  the  —  no !  I  forgot.  Bless 
and  curse  not !  " 

And  now  KoMnson  was  confined 
for  five  months  in  a  wooilen  prison 
with  the  scum  of  our  jails.  No  cell  to 
take  refuge  in  from  evil  socieM'. 
And  in  that  wretched  five  months  this 
perpetual  contact  with  criuiinals,  many 
\of  them  all  but  incuial)le,  took  the 
Ngloss  off  him.  His  good  resolutions 
were  unshaken,  but  his  repugnance  to 
cVil  associates  became  gradually  worn 
away. 

At  last  they  landed  at  Sydney. 
They  were  employed  for  about  a 
fortnight  in  some  government  works, 
a  mile  from  the  town ;  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  he  was  picked  out 
by  a  gentleman  who  wanted  a  ser- 
vant. 

Kobinson's  work  was  to  call  him 
not  too  early,  to  clean  his  boots,  go 
on  errands  into  the  town,  and  be  al- 
ways in  the  way  till  five  o'clock. 
From  that  hour  until  about  two  in 
the  morning  Mr.  Miles  devoted  to 
amusement,  returning  with  his  latch- 
key and  often  rousing  the  night  owl 
and  his  servant  with  a  bacchanalian 
or  Anacreontic  melody.  In  short, 
Mr.  Miles  was  a  loose  fish  ;  a  bache- 
lor who  had  recently  inherited  the 
fortune  of  an  old  screw  his  imcle,  and 
was  spending  thrift  in  all  the  tradi- 
tional modes,  — horses,  dogs,  women, 
cards,  etc. 

He  was  a  good-natured  creature, 
and  one  morning  as  he  brought  him 
up  his  hot  water,  and  his  soda-water, 
Kobinson  ventured  on  a  friendly  re- 
monstrance. 

Mr.  Miles  flung  canting  rogue  and 
half  a  dozen  oaths  and  one  boot  at 
his  head,  and  was  preparing  to  add  a 
tumbler,  when  his  mentor  whipped 
into  the  lobby. 

Robinson  could  not  have  fallen  to  a 
worse  master  than  this,  whose  irreg- 
ularities w(fre  so  regular  that  his  ser- 
vant had  always  seven  hours  to 
spend  in  the  town  as  he  pleased. 
There  he  was  often  solicited  to  join  in 
depredations  on  property.  For  he 
found  half  his  old  acquaintances  were 


^^' 


MEND."  MS 

collected  by  the 
this  spot  of  earth. 

Robinson  took  a  particular  pride  in 
telling  these  gentlemen  that  he  had 
no  objection  to  taking  a  friendly  glass 
with  them,  and  talking  over  old  times, 
but  that,  as  for  taking  what  did  not 
belong  to  him,  all  that  was  over  for- 
ever. In  short  he  improved  on  Mr. 
Eden's  instructions.  Instead  of  fly- 
ing from  temptation,  like  a  coward 
conscious  of  weakness,  he  nobly  faced 
it,  and  walked  cool,  collected,  and  safe 
on  the  edge  of  danger. 

One  good  result  of  this  was  that 
he  spent  his  wages  every  month  faster 
than  he  got  them,  and  spent  the 
clothes  his  master  gave  him,  and 
these  Avere  worth  more  tlian  his  wages, 
for  Mr.  Miles  was  going  the  pace, 
—  wore  nothing  after  the  gloss  was 
off  it.  But  Robinson  had  never  lived 
out  of  prison  at  less  than  five  hun- 
dred per  annum,  and  the  evening  is  a 
good  time  in  the  day  for  spending 
money  in  a  town,  and  his  evenings 
were  all  his  own. 

One  evening  a  young  tradeswoman 
with  whom  he  was  flirting  in  the 
character  of  a  merchant's  clerk  tremen- 
dously busy  who  could  only  get  out 
in  the  evening,  —  this  young  woman, 
whom  he  had  often  solicited  to  go  to 
the  theatre,  consented. 

"  I  could  go  with  you  to-morrow, 
my  sister  and  I,"  said  she. 

Robinson  expressed  his  delight,  but 
consulting  his  pockets  found  he  had 
not  the  means  of  paying  for  their 
scats,  and  he  could  not  pawn  any 
clothes,  for  he  had  but  two  sets.  One 
(yellowish)  that  government  com- 
pelled him  to  wear  by  daylight,  and 
one  a  present  from  his  master  (black). 
That,  together  with  a  mustache,  ad- 
mitted him  into  the  bosom  of  society 
at  night.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Propose  to  the  ladies  to  pay,  —  that 
was  quite  Avithout  precedent.  Ask  his 
master  for  an  advance,  impossible. 
His  master  was  gone  kangaroo-hunt- 
ing for  three  days.  Borrow  some 
of  his  master's  clothes  and  pawn 
them,   that  was  too  like  theft.    He 


244 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


would  pawn  his  rinj?,  it  would  only 
be  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  would  not 
spend  a  farthing  more  till  he  had  got 
it  back. 

lie  pawned  Mr.  Eden's  ring  ;  it 
just  paid  for  their  places  at  the  thea- 
tre, where  they  saw  the  living  pup- 
pots  of  the  colony  mop  and  mow  and 
rant  under  the  title  of  acting.  This 
was  so  interesting  that  Robinson  was 
thinking  of  his  ring  the  whole  time, 
and  how  to  get  it  back.  The  girls 
agreed  among  themselves  they  had 
never  enjoyed  so  dull  a  cavalier. 

The  next  day  a  line  from  Mr.  Miles 
to  say  that  he  should  not  be  back  for 
a  week.  No  hope  of  funds  from  him. 
So  Robinson  pawned  his  black  coat 
and  got  back  his  ring ;  and,  as  the 
trousers  and  waistcoat  were  no  use 
now,  he  pawned  them  for  pocket- 
money,  which  soon  dissolved. 

Mr.  Robinson  now  was  out  of  spir- 
its. 

"  Service  is  not  the  thing  for  me. 
I  am  of  an  active  turn,  —  I  want  to 
go  into  business  that  will  occupy  me 
all  day  long,  —  business  that  requires 
some  head.  Even  his  reverence,  the 
first  man  in  the  country,  acknowl- 
edged my  talents,  —  and  wbat  is  the 
vent  for  them  herel  The  blacking- 
bottle." 

• 

CHAPTER    XLV. 

Ix  a  low  public  outside  the  town,  — 
in  a  back  room,  —  with  their  arms  on 
the  table,  and  their  low  foreheads 
nearly  touching,  sat  whispering  two 
men,  —  types  :  one  had  the  deep-sunk 
colorless  eyes,  the  protruding  cheek- 
bones, the  shapeless  mouth,  and  the 
broad  chin,  good  in  itself,  but  bad  in 
the  above  connection  ;  the  other  had 
the  vulpine  chin,  and  the  fiendish  eye- 
brows descending  on  the  very  nose  in 
two  sharp  arches.  Both  had  the  rest- 
less eye,  both  the  short-cropped  hair, 
so.^'ety's  comment,  congruous  and 
auxiliary,  though  in  itself  faint  by  the 
Bide  of  habit's  seal  and  Nature's. 

A  small  north  window  dimly  light- 


ed the  glooqny,  uncouth  cabin,  and 
revealed  the  sole  furniture ;  four 
chairs  too  heavy  to  lift,  too  thick  to 
break,  and  a  ta!)le  discolored  witii  the 
stains  of  a  thousand  tiltby  debauches, 
and  dotted  here  and  there  with  the 
fresh  ashes  of  pipes  and  cigars. 

In  this  appropriate  hame  behold 
two  felons  putting  their  heads  togeth- 
er :  by  each  felon's  side  smoked  in  a 
glass,  hot  with  heat,  and  hotter  with 
alcohol,  the  enemy  of  man.  It  would 
be  dithcult  to  give  their  dialogue,  for 
they  spoke  in  thieves'  Latin.  The  su!)- 
stance  was  this  :  They  had  scent  of 
a  booty  in  a  house  that  stood  by  itself 
three  miles  out  of  the  town.  But  the 
servants  were  incorruptible,  and  they 
could  not  get  access  to  inspect  the 
premises,  which  were  intricate.  Now 
your  professional  burglar  will  no 
more  venture  upon  unexplored  prem- 
ises, than  a  good  seaman  will  run  in- 
to an  unknown  channel  without  pilot, 
soundings,  or  chart.  It  appeared  from 
the  dialogue  that  the  two  men  were 
acquainted  with  a  party  who  knew 
these  premises,  having  b^-en  more? 
than  once  inside  them  with  his  mas- 
ter. 

The  more  rugged  one  objected  to 
this  party.  "He  is  no  use,  he  haa 
turned  soft.  I  have  heard  him  refuse 
a  dozen  good  plants  the  last  month. 
Besides,  I  don't  want  a  canting  son 
of  a  gun  for  my  pal,  —  ten  to  one  if 
he  don't  turn  tail  and  perhaps  split." 

—  N.  B,  All  this,  not  in  English,  but 
in  thieves'  cant,  with  an  oath  or  a 
nasty  expression  at  every  third  word. 
The  sentences  measled  with  them. 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  take 
him,"  replied  he  of  the  Mc])histop!ie- 
les  evebrow.     "  He  won't  refuse  me." 

—  "Why  not?" 

"  He  is  an  old  pal  of  mine,  and  I 
never  found  the  thing  I  could  n't  per- 
suade him  to.  He  does  not  know 
how  to  say  me  nay,  —  you  may  bully 
him  and  queer  him  till  all  is  blue, 
and  he  won't  budge,  and  th:\t  is  the 
lay  you  have  been  upon  with  him. 
Now  I  shall  pull  a  long  face, — make 
up  a  story,  —  take  liim  by  his  soft 


•    '-^. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


245 


bit,  —  tell  him  I  can't  get  on  without 
him,  and  j)atter  old  hint;  syne  to  him  : 
then  we  '11  };ct  a  fiddle  and  lots  of 
wliiskey :  and  when  we  have  had  a 
reel  and  he  has  shaken  his  foot  on 
the  floor,  and  drank  a  gill  or  two, 
you  will  see  him  thaw,  and  then  you 
leave  him  to  me,  and  don't  put  in 
your  jaw  to  spoil  it.  If  we  get  him  it 
will  be  all  right,  —  he  is  No.  1  :  his 
little  finger  has  seen  more  than  both 
our  carcasses  put  together. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

Four  days  after  this,  mephistophe- 
les  with  a  small  m  and  brutus  with  a 
little  b  sat  again  in  the  filthy  little  cab- 
in where  men  hatch  burglaries  ;  but 
this  time  the  conference  wore  an  air  of 
expectant  triumph. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  1 "  —  "  You  did 
n't  do  it  easy." 

"No,  I  had  almost  to  go  on  my 
knees  to  him."  — "  He  is  n't  worth  so 
much  trouble." 

"  He  is  worth  it  ten  times  over. 
Look  at  this  " ;  and  the  speaker  pro- 
duced a  plan  of  the  premises  they 
were  plottino:  against.  "  Could  you 
have  done  this?"  —  "I  don't  say  I 
could." 

"  Could  any  man  you  know  have 
done  it  ?  See,  here  is  every  room  and 
every  door  and  window  and  passage 
put  down,  and  what  sort  of  keys  and 
bolts  and  fastenings  to  each."  —  "  How 
•came  he  to  know  so  much  1  he  never 
was  in  the  house  but  twice."  —  "A 
top-sawyer  like  him  looks  at  every- 
thing with  an  eye  to  business  :  if  he 
was  in  a  church  he  'd  twig  the  candle- 
sticks and  the  fastenings,  while  the 
rest  were  mooning  into  the  parson's 
face,  —  he  can't  help  it." 

"  Well,  he  may  be  a  top-sawyer,  but 
I  don't  like  him.  See  how  loath  he 
was,  and,  when  he  did  agree,  how  he 
turned  to  and  drank  as  if  he  would 
drown  his  pluck  before  it  could  come 
to  anything."  —  "  Wait  till  you  see 
him  work.    He  will  shake  all  that 


nonsense  to  blazes  when  he  finds  him- 
self out  under  the  moon  with  the  swng 
on  one  side  and  the  gallows  on  the 
other." 

To  go  back  a  little  :  Mr.  Miles  did 
not  return  at  the  appointed  day ;  and 
Robinson,  who  had  no  work  to  do, 
and  could  not  amuse  himself  without 
money,  pawned  Mr.  Eden's  ring.  He 
felt  ashamed  and  sorrowful,  but  not 
so  much  so  as  the  first  time. 

This  evening,  as  he  was  strolling 
moodily  through  the  suburbs,  a  voice 
hailed  him  in  tones  of  the  utmost  cor- 
diality. He  looked  up  and  there  was 
an  old  pal,  with  whom  he  had  been 
associated  in  many  a  merry  bout  and 
pleasant  felony;  he  had  not  seen  the 
man  for  two  years ;  a  friendly  glass 
was  offered  and  accepted ;  two  girls 
were  of  the  party,  to  oblige  whom 
Robinson's  old  acquaintance  sent  for 
Blind  Bill,  the  fiddler,  and  soon  Rob- 
inson was  dancing  and  shouting  with 
the  girls  like  mad,  —  "  high  cut,"  "  side 
cut,"  "  heel  and  toe,"  "  sailor's  fling," 
and  the  double  shuffle. 

He  did  not  leave  till  three  in  the 
morning,  and  after  a  promise  to  meet 
the  same  little  party  again  next  even- 
ing, —  to  "dance  and  drink,  and  drive 
away  dull  care. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

On  a  certain  evening  some  days 
later,  the  two  men  whose  faces  were 
definitions  sat  on  a  bench  outside  that 
little  public  in  the  suburbs,  —  one  at 
the  end  of  a  clay  pipe,  the  other  be- 
hind a  pewter  mug.     It  was  dusk. 

"  He  ought  to  be  here  soon,"  said 
the  one  into  whose  forehead  holes 
seemed  dug  and  little  bits  of  some 
vitreous  substance  left  at  the  bottom. 
"  Well,  mate,"  cried  he,  harslily, 
"  what  do  you  want  that  you  stick  to 
us  so  tight  ?  "  This  was  addressed  to 
a  pedler  who  had  been  standing  oppo- 
site showing  contents  of  his  box  with 
a  silent  eloquence.  Now  this  very 
asperity  made  the  portable  shopman 


24G 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


sny  to  himself,  "  Wants  me  out  of  the 
May,  —  j)erhaps  buy  me  out  "  So  he 
stuck  where  he  was,  and  exhibited  his 
Wares. 

"  We  don't  want  your  j^imcracks," 
said  mcphistopheles,  quietly. 

The  man  eyed  his  eustomers,  and 
did  not  despair.  "  But,  f^ents  "  said 
he,  "  I  have  ^ot  other  tilings  besides 
gimeracks ;  something  that  will  suit 
you  if  you  can  read." 

"  Of  course  we  can  read,"  replied 
sunken-eyes,  haughtily ;  and,  in  fact, 
they  had  been  too  often  in  jail  to  es- 
cape this  accomplishment. 

The  pedler  looked  furtively  in  every 
direction  ;  and  after  this  precaution 
pressed  a  spring  and  brought  a  small 
drawer  out  from  the  bottom  of  his 
pack.  The  two  rogues  winked  at  one 
another.  Out  of  the  drawer  the  ped- 
ler whipped  a  sealed  packet. 

"  What  is  it,"  asked  mephistophe- 
les,  beginning  to  take  an  interest. — 
"  Just  imported  from  England,"  said 
the  pedler,  a  certain  pomp  mingling 
with  his  furtive  and  mysterious  man- 
ner. 

" England,"  was  the  other's 

patriotic  reply.  —  "  And  translated 
from  the  French." 

"  That  is  better  !  but  what  is  it  ?  " 
—  "  Them  that  buy  it,  —  they  will 
see ! " 

"  Something  flash  ?  "  —  "  Rather,  I 
should  say." 

"  Is  there  plenty  about  the  women 
in  it  ? "  The  trader  answered  ob- 
liquely 

*  eep  it 
Why, 
of  course  there  is."  — "  Well !  "  said 
sunken  -  eyes,  affecting  carelessness, 
*'  what  do  vou  want  for  it.  Got  six- 
pence, Bill'?  " 

"  I  sold  the  last  to  a  gentleman 
for  three  and  sixpence.  But  as  this 
is  the  last  I  've  got,  —  say  half  a 
crown." 

Sunken-eyes  swore  at  the  pedler. 
"What!  half  a  crown  for  a  book  no 
thicker  than  a  quire  of  paper?"  — 
"  Only  half  a  crown  for  a  thing  I  could 
be  put  in  prison  for  selling.     Is  not 


What  are  we  obliged  to  keej 
dark  for  ?  "    The  other  put  in,  "  Why, 


my  risk  to  be   paid  as  well   as   my 
leaves  ? " 

This  logic  went  home,  and  after  a 
little  higgling  two  shillings  was  of- 
fered and  accepted ;  but  in  the  very 
act  of  commerce  the  trader  seemed  to 
have  a  misgiving. 

"  I  dare  n't  do  it  unless  you  prom- 
ise faithfully  never  to  tell  you  had  it 
of  me.  I  have  got  a  character  to  lose, 
and  I  would  not  have  it  known,  not 
for  tlie  world,  that  James  Walker  had 
sold  such  loose  —  licentious  —  " 

"  Oh  !  what,  it  is  very  spicy,  is  it  1 
Come,  hand  it  over.  There 's  the  two 
bob." 

"  My  poverty  and  not  my  will  con- 
sents," sighed  the  trader. 

"  There  you  be  off,  or  we  shall  have 
all  the  brats  coming  round  us." 

The  pedler  complied  and  moved 
off,  and  so  willing  was  he  to  oblige  his 
customers,  that  on  turning  the  comer 
he  shouldered  his  pack  and  ran  Avith 
great  agiUty  down  the  street,  till  he 
gained  a  network  of  small  alleys  in 
which  he  wriggled  an<l  left  no  trace. 

Meantime  sunken-eyes  had  put  his 
tongue  to  the  envelope  and  drawn  out 
the  contents.  "  I  '11  go  into  the  light 
and  see  what  it  is  all  about." 

mephistopheles  left  alone  had  hardly 
given  his  pipe  two  sucks," ere  brutus 
returned  black  with  rage,  and  spout- 
ing oaths  like  a  whale. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  — 
*'  Matter  !  Did  n't  he  sell  this  to  me 
for  a  flash  story  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  did  n't  say  so.     But  cer- 
tainly he  dropped  a  word  about  loose  < 
books."  —  "  Of  course  he  did." 

"  Well !  and  ain't  they  ?  "  —  "Ain't 
they ! "  cried  the  other,  with  fury. 
"  Here,  you  young  shaver,  bring  the 
candle    out   here.     Ain't   they  ?    No, 

they  ain't.     and and  

the .     Look  here !  " 

mephisto.  "  '  Mend  yf>ur  Ways.'  a 
trart."  —  brutus,  "  I  '11  break  his  head 
instead." 

mefthisto.  "  '  Narrative  of  Mr.  James 
the  Missionary.'  "  —  brutus.  "  The 
cheating,  undermining  rip." 

mephisto.   "  And  here  is  another  to 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


247 


the  same  tune."  —  hrufus.  "  Did  n't  I 
tell  3'ou  so  1  The  hypocritical  hum- 
bujriu:inir  rascal  — " 

niej>/usto.  "  Stop  a  hit.  Here  is  a 
little  one  :  '  Memoirs  of  a  Gentleman's 
Hous(>keeper.'  "  —  brutiis.  "  O,  is 
there?     I  did  not   see  that." 

mephisto.  "  You  are  so  hasty.  The 
case  mayn't  he  so  black  as  it  looks. 
Tlie  otiiers  might  be  thrown  in  to 
make  up  the  parcel.  Hold  the  can- 
dle nearer." — brufus.  "Ay!  let  us 
see  about  the  housekeeper." 

The  two  men  read  ''  The  House- 
keeper "  eagerly,  but,  as  they  read,  the 
momentary  excitement  of  hope  died 
out  of  their  faces.  Not  -a  sparkle  of 
the  ore  they  sought ;  all  was  dross. 
"  The  Housekeeper  "  was  one  of  those 
who  make  pickles,  not  are  them, — 
and  in  a  linen  apron  a  yard  wide  save 
their  master's  money  from  the  fangs 
of  cook  and  footman,  not  help  him 
scatter  it  in  a  satin  gown. 

There  was  not  even  a  stray  hint  or 
an  indelicate  expression  for  the  poor 
fellows'  two  shillings.  The  fraud  was 
complete.  It  was  not  like  the  ground 
coffee,  pepper,  and  mustard,  in  a  Lon- 
don shop,  — in  which  tliere  is  as  often 
as  not  a  pinch  of  real  coffee,  mustard, 
and  pepper,  to  a  pound  of  chiccory 
and  bullock's  blood,  of  red-lead,  dirt, 
flour,  and  turmeric.  Here  the  do  was 
pure. 

Then  brutus  relieved  his  swelling 
heart  by  a  string  of  observations  part- 
ly rhetorical,  partly  zoological  He 
devoted  to  horrible  plagues  every 
square  inch  of  the  pedler,  enumerating 
particularly  those  interior  organs  that 
subserve  vitality,  and  concluded  by 
vowing  solemnly  to  put  a  knife  into 
him  the  first  fair  opportunity.  "I'll 
teach  the  rogue  to  —  "  §ell  you  m^jdi- 
cine  for  poison,  eh  ? 

mephisto jiheles,  either  because  he 
wns  a  more  philosophic  spirit  or  was 
not  the  one  out  of  pocket,  took  the 
blow  more  coolly.  "  It  is  a  bite  and 
no  mistake.  But  what  of  it  ?  Our 
money,"  said  he,  with  a  touch  of  sad- 
ness, "  goes  as  it  comes.  This  is  only 
two  bob  flung  in  the  dirt.     We  should 


not  have  invested  them  in  the  Threo 
per  Cents  :  and  to-nigiit's  swag  will 
make  it  up." 

He  then  got  a  fresh  wafer  and 
sealed  the  pamphlets  up  again. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  you  kcc])  dark  and 
sell  the  first  flat  you  come  across  the 
same  way  the  varmint  sold  you." 

brutus,  sickened  at  heart  by  the 
pedler's  iniquity,  revived  at  the  pros- 
pect of  selling  some  fellow-creature 
as  he  had  been  sold.  He  put  the 
paper-trap  in  his  pocket;  and,  cheated 
of  obscenity,  consoled  himself  with 
brandy  such  as  Bacchus  would  not 
own,  but  Beelzebub  would  brew  for 
man  if  permitted  to  keep  an  earthly 
distillery. 

Presently  they  were  joined  by  the 
third  man,  and  tor  two  hours  the'three 
heads  might  all  have  been  covered  by 
one  bushel-basket,  and  Pedler  Walk- 
er's heartless  fraud  was  forgotten  in 
business  of  a  higher  order. 

At  last  mcphistojiheles  gave  brutus  a 
signal,  and  they  rose  to  interrupt  the 
potations  of  the  new-comer,  who  was 
pouring  down  fire  and  hot  water  in 
rather  a  reckless  way. 

"  We  won't  all  go  together,"  said 
mcpl'.istopheles.  "  You  two  meet  me 
at  Jonathan's  ken  in  an  hour." 

As  brutus  and  the  new-comer 
walked  along,  an  idea  came  to  brutus. 
"  Here  is  a  fellow  that  passes  for  a 
sharp.  What  if  I  sell  him  my  pamph- 
lets and  get  a  laugh  at  his  expense  i?  " 
"  Mate,"  said  he,  "  here  is  a  flash  book 
all  sealed  up.  What  will  you  give 
me  for  it  ?  "  —  "  Well !  I  don't  much 
care  for  that  sort  of  reading,  old 
fellow." 

"  But  this  is  cheap.  I  got  it  a  bar- 
gain. Come,  a  shilling  won't  hurt 
you  for  it.  See,  there  is  more  than 
one  under  the  cover." 

Now  the  other  had  been  drinking 
till  he  was  in  that  state  in  which  a 
good-natured  fellow's  mind  if  decom- 
posed would  be  found  to  be  all "'  Yes  " 
and  "  Dine  with  me  to-morrow,"  so 
he  fell  at  once  into  the  trap. 

"  I  '11  give  it  you,  my  boy,"  said  he. 
"  Let  us  see  it  1     There  are  more  than 


248 


[f  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


one  inside  it-  You're  an  honest  fel- 
low. Owe  you  a  shillin};."  And  the 
scaled  parcel  went  into  his  ])i)ck<.'t. 
Then,  seiiii.i;  hiutus  look  rather  rueful 
at  this  way  of  doini;  l)U^iness,  he  hic- 
coui^hed  our,  "  Stop  your  bob  out  of 
the  swug,"  and  chuckled. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

A  sxow-wHiTE  suburban  villa 
standinj^  alone  with  its  satellites  that 
occupied  five  times  as  much  space  as 
itself ;  coach-house,  stable,  offices, 
green-house  clin;iing  to  it  like  dew  to 
a  lily,  and  hot-house  farther  in  the 
rear.'  A  wall  of  considerable  height 
enclosed  the  whole.  It  looked  as 
secure  and  peaceful  as  innocent  in  the 
fleeting  light  the  young  moon  cast  on 
it  every  time  the  passing  clouds  left 
her  clear  a  moment.  Yet  at  this  calm, 
thoughtful  hour  crime  was  waiting  to 
invade  this  pretty  little  place. 

Under  the  scullery  window  lurked 
brutus  and  mephistopheles,  —  faces 
blackened,  tools  in  hand,  —  ready  to 
whip  out  a  pane  of  said  window  and 
so  penetrate  the  kitchen,  and  from 
the  kitchen  the  pantry  where  they 
made  sure  of  a  few  spoons,  and  up 
the  back  stairs  to  the  plate-chest. 
They  would  be  in  the  house  even  now, 
but  a  circumstance  delayed  them,  —  a 
light  was  burning  on  the  second  floor. 
Now  it  was  contrary  to  their  creed  to 
enter  a  house  wliere  a  light  was  burn- 
ing, above  all,  if  there  was  the  least 
chance  of  that  light  being  in  a  sitting- 
room.  Now  they  had  been  some 
hours  watching  the  house,  and  that 
light  had  been  there  all  the  time ; 
therefore,  argued  mephistopheles,  "It 
is  not  a  f  irthing  glim  in  a  bedroom, 
or  we  should  have  seen  it  lighted.  It 
is  some  one  up.  We  must  wait  till 
tliey  roost." 

They  waited  and  waited  and  wait- 
ed. Still  the  light  burned.  They 
cursed  the  light.  No  wonder.  Light 
seems  the  natural  enemy  of  evil 
deeds. 


They  began  to  get  bitter,  and  their 
l)odies  cold.  Even  Imrglary  befouics 
a  hore  when  you  have  to  wait  too 
long,  idie  out  in  the  cold. 

At  last  at  about  half  pa<t  two  tlie 
light  went  out:  then,  keenly  listen- 
ing, the  two  sons  of  darkness  iieard 
a  movement  in  tlie  house,  and  more 
than  one  door  open  and  shut,  and 
then  the  sound  of  feet  going  rapid 'y 
down  the  road  towards  Sydney. 

"  Why,  it  is  a  party  only  just  broke 
up.  Lucky  I  would  not  work  till 
the  glim  was  out."  —  "  But  I  say, 
Bill,  —  he  is  at  that  corner, —  the  nobs 
must  have  passed  close  to  him.  — 
suppose  they  saw  him."  —  "  He  is  not 
so  <:reen  as  let  them  see  him." 

The  next  question  was  how  long 
they  should  wait  to  let  the  inmates 
close  their  peepers.  All  had  been 
still  and  dark  more  than  half  an  hour 
when  the  pair  began  to  work,  me- 
phisto  took  out  a  large  piece  of  putty 
and  dablxid  it  on  the  middle  of  tlu3 
pane  ;  this  putty  he  worked  in  the 
centre  up  to  a  pyramid  ;  this  he  held 
with  his  left  hand,  while  with  his 
right  he  took  out  his  glazier's  dia- 
mond and  cut  the  pane  all  round  tlie 
edges.  By  the  hold  the  putty  gave 
him,  he  prevented  the  pane  from  fall- 
ing inside  the  house  and"  making  a 
noise,  and  finally  whipped  it  out  clean 
and  handed  it  to  brutus.  A  moment 
more  the  two  men  were  in  the  scul- 
lery, thence  into  the  kitchen  through 
a  door  which  they  found,  open  ;  in  the 
kitchen  were  two  doors,  —  try  in;;  one 
they  found  it  open  into  a  larder. 
Here,  casting  the  light  of  his  dark- 
lantern  round,  brutus  discovered 
some  cold  fowl  and  a  ham  ;  they  took 
these  into  the  kitchen,  and  somewhat 
coolly  took  out  their  knives  and  ate 
a  hasty  but  'hearty  supper.  Their 
way  of  hacking  the  hank  was  as  law- 
Ic'^s  as  all  the  rest.  They  then  took 
off  their  shoos  and  dropped  them  out- 
side the  scullery  window,  and  now 
the  serious  part  of  the  g.ime  began. 
Creeping  like  cats,  they  reached  the 
pantry,  and  sure  enough  fouinl  more 
than  a  dozen  silver  spoons  and  forks 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


249 


of  different  sizes  that  had  been  recent- 
ly used.  These  they  put  into  a  small 
bag,  and  mephisto  went  back  through 
the  scnllery  into  the  back  garden  and 
hid  these  spoons  in  a  bush.  '•  Then 
if  we  should  be  interrupted  we  can 
come  back  for  them." 

And  now  tlie  game  became  more 
serious  and  more  nervous  ;  the  pair 
drew  their  clasped  knives  and  placed 
them  in  their  bosoms,  ready  in  case 
of  extremity  ;  then  creeping  like  cats, 
one  foot  at  a  time  and  then  a  pause, 
ascended  the  back  stairs,  at  the  top 
of  which  was  a  door.  But  this  door 
was  not  fastened,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment they  passed  through  it  and  were 
on  the  first  landing.  The  plan,  cor- 
rect in  every  particular,  indicated  the 
plate  closet  to  their  right :  a  gleam 
from  the  lantern  showed  it ;  the  key- 
hole was  old-fashioned  as  also  de- 
scribed, and  in  a  moment  brutus  had 
it  open.  Then  mephisto  whipped 
out  a  green  baize  bag  with  compart- 
ments, and  in  a  minute  these  adroit 
hands  had  stowed  away  cups,  tu- 
reens, baskets,  soup-spoons,  &c.  to  the 
value  of  three  hundred  pounds,  and 
scarce  a  chink  heard  during  the  whole 
operation.  It  was  done  ;  a  look 
passed  as  much  as  to  say  this  is 
enough,  and  they  crept  back  silent 
and  cat-like  as  they  had  come,  bru- 
tus leading  with  the  bag.  Now,  just 
as  he  had  his  hand  on  the  door 
through  which  they  had  come  itp,  — 
snick  !  click  !  —  a  door  was  locked 
somewhere  down  below. 

brutus  looked  round  and  put  the 
bag  gently  down.  "Where?"  he 
whispered. —  "Near  the  kitchen,^' 
was  the  reply  scarce  audible.  "  Sound- 
ed to  me  to  come  from  the  hall,"  whis- 
pered the  other. 

Both  men  changed  color,  but  re- 
tained their  presence  of  mind  and 
their  cunning,  brutus  stepped  back 
to  the  plate-closet,  put  the  bag  in  it, 
and  closed  it,  but  without  locking  it. 
"  Stay  there,"  whispered  he,  "  and,  if 
I  whistle,  run  out  the  back  way 
empty-handed.  If  I  mew,  out  with 
the  bag  and  come  out  by  the  front 
11* 


door ;  nothing  but  inside  bolts  to  it, 
plan  says." 

They  listened  a  moment,  there  was 
no  fresh  sound.  Then  brutus  slipped 
down  the  front  stairs  in  no  time  ;  he 
found  the  front  door  not  bolted  ;  he 
did  not  quite  understand  that,  and, 
drawing  a  short  bludgeon,  he  opened 
it  very  cautiously ;  the  caution  was 
not  superfluous :  two  gentlemen  made 
a  dash  at  him  from  the  outside  the 
moment  the  door  was  open ;  one  of 
their  heads  cracked  like  a  broken  bot- 
tle under  the  blow  the  ready  ruffian 
struck  him  with  his  bludgeon,  and  he 
dropped  like  a  shot ;  but  another  was 
Coming  flying  across  the  lawn  with 
a  drawn  cutlass,  and  brutus,  finding 
himself  overmatched,  gave  one  loud 
whistle  and  flew  across  the  hall,  mak- 
ing for  the  kitchen.  Flew  he  never 
so  fast  mephisto  was  there  an  instant 
before  him.  As  for  the  gentleman  at 
the  door,  he  was  encumbered  with  his 
hurt  companion,  who  fell  Across  his 
knees  as  he  rushed  at  the  burglar, 
brutus  got  a  start  of  some  seconds,  and 
dashed  furiously  into  the  kitchen,  and 
flew  to  the  only  door  between  them 
and    scullery  window.     The    door 

WAS  LOCKED. 

The  burglar's  eyes  gleamed  in  their 
deep  caverns,  "  Back,  Will,  and  cut 
through  them,"  he  cried,  and  out 
flashed  his  long  bright  knife. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

While  the  two  burglars  were  near 
the  scullery  window  watching  the 
light  in  the  upper  story,  a  third  man 
stood  sentinel  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  house :  he  was  but  a  few  yards 
from  the  public  road,  yet  hundreds 
would  have  passed  and  no  man  seen 
him  ;  for  he  had  placed  himself  in  a 
thick  shadow  flat  against  the  garden 
wall.  His  office  was  to  signal  danger 
from  his  side  should  any  come.  Now 
the  light  that  kept  his  comrades  inac- 
tive was  not  on  his  side  of  the  house  ; 
he  waited  therefore,  expecting  every 


250 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


moment  their  si;:^nal  that  the  joh  was 
done.  On  this  the  cue  was  to  slip 
quietly  olF,  and  all  make  I»y  ditfcrent 
paths  for  the  low  ])uhlic'-h()iise  de- 
scribed above,  and  there  divide  the 
swa.cr. 

The  man  waited  and  waited  and 
waited  for  this  si;;nal ;  it  never  came  ; 
we  know  why.  Then  he  became  im- 
patient, miserable  ;  he  was  out  of 
liis  element,  wanted  to  be  doiny^ 
somethinj,'.  At  last  all  this  was  an 
intolerable  bore.  Not  feeling  warm 
towards  the  job,  he  had  <i;iven  the  act- 
ive business  to  his  comrades,  which 
he  now  regretted  for  two  reasons  : 
first,  he  was  kept  here  stagnant  and 
bored  ;  and  second,  they  must  be  a 
p  ur  of  bunglers ;  he  'd  have  roI)bed  a 
parish  in  less  time.  He  would  light  a 
cigar.  Tobacco  blunts  all  ills,  even 
eiimii.  Putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
for  a  ci<>;ar,  it  ran  against  a  hard  squnre 
sub>tance.  What  is  this? — O  the 
book  mepliisto  had  sold  him  ;  no,  he 
would  not  smoke,  he  would  see  what 
the  book  was  all  about ;  he  knelt 
down  and  took  oif  his  hat,  and  put 
his  dark-lantern  inside  it  before  he 
ventured  to  move  the  slide  :  then  un- 
did the  paper,  and,  putting  it  into  the 
hat,  threw  the  concentrated  rays  on 
the  contents,  and  peered  in  to  examine 
them.  Now  the  various  little  pamph- 
lets had  been  displaced  l)y  mei)histo, 
and  the  first  words  that  met  the  thief's 
eye  in  large  letters  on  the  l)aek  of  a 
tract  were  these,  "The  Wages  of 
Sin  are  Death." 

Thomas  Kobinson  looked  at  these 
words  with  a  stupid  gaze.  At  first 
he  did  not  realize  all  that  lay  in  them 
He  did  not  open  the  tract ;  he  ga/.ed 
benumbeil  at  the  words,  and  they 
glared  at  him  like  the  eyes  of  green 
fire  when  we  come  in  the  dark  on 
some  tiger-cat  crouchinj:  in  his  lair. 

O  that  I  were  a  painter  and  could 
make  you  see  what  cannot  be  described, 
—  the  features  of  this  strange  incident 
tlial  sounds  so  small  and  was  so  great ! 
The  black  night,  the  hat,  the  renegade 
peering  under  it  in  the  wall's  deep 
shadows   to   read    something   trashy, 


and  the  half-open  lantern  shooting  its 
little  strij)  of  intense  fire,  and  the  jjrim 
words  springing  out  in  a  moment 
from  the  dark  face  of  night  and  daz- 
zling the  renegade's  eyes  and  chilling 
his  heart :  — 

"the  wages  of  sin  are  death." 

To  his  stupor  now  succeeded  sur- 
prise and  awe.  "  How  comes  this  ?  " 
lie  whis])ered  aloud,  "  was  this  a  trick 

of 's  ?     No!     he   doesn't    know. 

This  is  the  Devil's  own  doing,  —  no  ! 
it  is  not,  —  more  likely  it  is  —  The 
third  time  !  —  I  '11  read  it :  my  hands 
shake  so  I  can  hardly  hold  it.  It  is 
by  him  —  yes  —  signed  F.  E.  Heaven 
have  mercy  on  me!  —  This  is  more 
than  natural." 

He  read  it,  shaking  all  over  as  he 
read.  The  tract  was  simply  written. 
It  began  with  a  story  of  instances, 
some  of  them  drawn  from  tlie  histories 
of  prisoners,  and  it  ended  with  an 
earnest  exhortation  and  a  terrible 
warning.  When  the  renegade  came 
to  this  f)art,  his  heart  heat  violently  ; 
for  along  with  the  earnest,  straight- 
forward, unmincing  words  of  sacred 
tire  there  seemed  to  rise  from  the  paper 
the  eloquent  voice,  t!ie  eye  rich  with 
love,  the  face  of  inexhaustible  intelli- 
gence and  sympathy  that  had  so  often 
shone  on  Robinson,  while  Just  words 
such  as  these  issued  from  those  golden 
lips. 

He  read  on,  but  not  to  the  end  ; 
for  as  he  read  he  came  to  one  para- 
graph that  made  him  fancy  that  Mr. 
Eden  was  by  his  very  side.  "  You, 
into  whose  hands  these  words  of  truth 
shall  fall,  and  find  you  intendin<r  to  do 
some  foolish  or  wicked  thing  to  mor- 
row, or  the  next  day,  or  to-(l;iy,  or  this 
very  hour,  —  stop  !  —  do  not  that  sin  ! 
on  your  soul  do  it  not !  — fall  on  your 
knees  and  repent  the  sin  you  have 
meditated  ;  better  repent  tlie  base  de- 
si<:n  than  suffer  for  the  sin,  as  sutler 
you  shall  so  surely  as  the  sky  is  pure, 
so  surely  as  God  is  holy  and  sin's 
wages  are  death." 

At  these  words,  as  if  the  priest's 
hand  had   been  stretched  across  the 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


251 


earth  and  sea  and  laid  on  the  thief  s 
head,  he  fell  down  upon  his  knees 
Avitli  his  back  towards  the  scene  of 
l)ur<;^lary  and  his  face  towards  Enj^- 
glaiid,  crying  ont,  "  I  will,  your  rev- 
erence. I  am  !  —  Lord  help  me  !  " 
cried  he,  then  first  remembering  how 
he  had  been  told  to  pray  in  tempta- 
tion's hour.  The  next  moment  he 
started  to  his  feet,  he  dashed  his  lan- 
tern to  the  ground,  and  leaped  over  a 
gate  that  stood  in  his  way,  and  fled 
down  the  road  to  Sydney. 

He  ran  full  half  a  mile  before  he 
stopped ;  his  mind  was  in  a  whirl. 
Another  reflection  stopped  him  :  he 
was  a  sentinel,  and  had  betrayed  his 
post;  suppose  his  pals  were  to  get 
into  trouble  through  reckoning  on 
him ;  was  it  fair  to  desert  them  with- 
out warning "?  What  if  he  were  to  go 
back  and  give  the  whistle  of  alarm, 
pretend  he  had  seen  some  one  watch- 
ing, and  so  prevent  the  meditated 
crime,  as  well  as  be  guiltless  of  it 
himself;  but  then,  thought  he,  "And 
suppose  I  do  go  back,  what  will  be- 
come of  me  1 " 

While  he  hesitated,  the  question 
was  decided  for  him.  As  he  looked 
back  irresolute,  his  keen  eye  noticed 
a  shadow  moving  along  the  hedge- 
side  to  his  left. 

"  Why,  they  are  coming  away," 
was  his  first  thought :  but  looking 
keenly  down  the  other  edge,  which 
was  darker  still,  he  saw  another  noise- 
less moving  shadow.  "  Why  are  they 
on  different  sides  of  the  road  and  both 
keeping  in  the  shadow  ?  "  thought  this 
shrewd  spirit,  and  he  liked  it  so  ill 
that  he  turned  at  once  and  ran  off 
towards  Sydney. 

At  this  out  came  the  two  figures 
with  a  bound  into  the  middle  of  the 
ro:id,  and,  with  a  loud  view-halloo, 
raced  after  him  like  the  wind. 
•  Robinson,  as  he  started  and  before 
he  knew  the  speed  of  his  pursuers, 
ventured  to  run  sideways  a  moment 
to  see  who  or  what  they  were.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  white  waistcoats 
and  glittering  studs,  and  guessed  the 
rest. 


He  had  a  start  of  not  more  than 
twenty  yards,  but  he  was  a  good  run- 
ner, and  it  was  in  his  favor  that  his 
pursuers  had  come  up  at  a  certain 
speed,  while  he  started  fresli  after  a 
rest.  He  squared  his  shoulders,  opened 
his  mouth  wide  for  a  long  race,  and 
ran  as  men  run  for  their  lives. 

In  the  silent  night  Robinson's  high- 
lows  might  have  been  heard  lialf  a 
mile  off,  clattering  along  the  hard 
road.  Pit  pit  pit  pat !  came  two  pair 
of  dress-boots  after  him.  Robinson 
heard  the  sound  with  a  thrill  of  fear ; 
"  They  in  their  pumps  and  I  in 
boots,"  thought  he,  and  his  pursuers 
heard  the  hunted  one  groan,  and  re- 
doubled their  efforts  as  dogs  when  the 
stag  begins  to  sob. 

He  had  scarce  run  a  hundred  yards 
with  his  ears  laid  back  like  a  hare's, 
when  he  could  not  help  thinking  the 
horrible  pit  pit  pit  got  nearer;  he 
listened  Avith  agonized  keenness  as  he 
ran,  and  so  fine  did"  his  danger  make 
his  ear  that  he  could  tell  the  exact 
position  of  liis  pursuers.  A  cold  sweat 
crept  over  him  as  he  felt  they  had  both 
gained  ten  yavds  out  of  the  twenty  on 
him  ;  then  he  distinctly  felt  one  pur- 
suer gain  upon  the  other,  and  this 
one's  pit  pit  pit  crept  nearer  and  near- 
er, an  inch  every  three  or  four  yards ; 
the  other  held  his  own  —  no  more  — 
no  less. 

At  last  so  near  crept  No.  1,  that 
Robinson  felt  his  hot  breath  at  his  ear. 
He  clenched  his  teeth  and  gave  a  des- 
perate spurt,  and  put  four  or  five 
yards  between  them ;  he  could  have 
measured  the  ground  gained  by  the 
pit  pit  pat.  But  the  pursuer  put  on  a 
spurt,  and  reduced  the  distance  by 
half. 

"I  may  as  well  give  in,"  thought 
the  hunted  one;  — but  at  that  moment 
came  a  gleam  of  hope  ;  this  pursuer 
began  suddenly  to  pant  very  loud. 
He  had  clenched  his  teeth  to  gain  the 
twenty  yards ;  he  had  gained  them, 
but  had  lost  his  wind^  Robinson 
heard  this,  and  feared  him  no  longer, 
and  in  fact  after  one  or  two  more 
puffs  came  one  despairing  snort,  and 


252 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD." 


No.  1  pulled  up  dead  short,  thorough- 
ly blown. 

As  No.  2  passed  him,  he  just  pant- 
ed out,  "  Won't  catch  him."  — 
"Won't  I!"  ejaculated  No.  2,  ex- 
pelling the  words  ratlier  than  uttering 
them. 

Klopetcc  klop,  klopetee  klop,  klope- 
tee,  klopetee,  klopetee  klop. 

Fit  pat,  pit  pat,  pit  pat  pat,  pit  pit 
pat.  Ten  yards  apart,  no  more,  no 
less. 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dog  attain, 
Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain. 

"They  have  done  me  between 
them,"  thought  poor  Robinson.  "  I 
could  have  run  from  either  singly,  but 
one  blows  me,  and  then  the  other 
runs  me  down.  I  can  get  out  of  it  by 
fighting  perhaps,  but  then  there  will 
be  another  crime." 

Robinson  now  began  to  pant  audi- 
bly, and,  finding  he  could  not  shake 
tins  hunter  otf,  he  with  some  reluc- 
tance prepared  another  game. 

He  began  to  exaggerate  his  symp- 
toms of  distress,  and  imperceptibly  to 
relax  his  pace.  On  this  the  pursuer 
came  up  hand  over  head.  He  was 
scarce  four  yards  behind,  when  Rob- 
inson suddenly  turned  and  tlnew  him- 
self on  one  knee,  with  both  hands  out 
like  a  cat's  claws.  The  man  ran  on 
full  tilt;  in  fact,  he  could  not  have 
stopped.  Robinson  caught  his  near- 
est ankle  with  both  hands,  and  rose 
with  him,  and  lifted  him,  aided  by  his 
own  impulse,  high  into  the  air  and 
sent  his  heels  up  perpendicular.  The 
man  desciibed  a  parabola  in  the  air, 
and  came  down  on  the  very  top  of  his 
head  with  frightful  force  ;  and  as  he 
lay,  his  head  buried  in  his  hat  and  his 
heels  kicking,  Robinson,  without  a 
momint  lost,  jumped  over  his  body, 
and  klopetee  klo])  rang  fainter  and 
fainter  down  the  road  alone. 

The  plucky  pursuer  wrenched  his 
head  with  infinite  difficulty  out  of  his 
hat,  which  sat  on  his  shoulders  with 
his  nose  pointing  through  a  chiism 
from  crown  to  brim,  shook  him>elf, 
and  ran  wildly  a  lew  yards  in  pursuit ; 


but  finding  he  had  in  his  confusion 
run  away  from  Robinson  as  well  as 
Robinson  from  him,  and,  hopeless  of 
recovering  the  ground  now  lost,  he 
gave  a  rueful  sort  of  laugh,  made  the 
best  of  it,  put  his  hands  in  his  jjockets 
and  strolled  back  to  meet  jSo.  I. 

Meantime,  Robinson,  fearful  of  be- 
ing pursued  on  horseback,  relaxed  his 
speed  but  little,  and  ran  the  three 
miles  out  into  Sydney.  He  came 
home  with  his  flank  beating  and  a 
glutinous  moisture  on  his  lip,  and  a 
liunted  look  in  his  eye.  He  crept  into 
bed,  but  spent  the  night  thinking,  ay, 
and  praying  too,  not  sleeping. 


CHAPTER    L. 

Thomas  Robinsox  rose  from  his 
sleepless  bed  an  altered  man  ;  al- 
tered above  all  in  this,  that  his  self- 
confidence  was  clean  gone.  "  How 
little  I  knew  myself,"  said  he,  "  and 
liow  well  his  reverence  knew  me  !  I 
am  the  weakest  fool  on  earth,  —  he 
saw  that  and  told  me  what  to  do. 
He  provided  help  for  me ;  and  I,  like 
an  ungrateful  idiot,  never  once 
thought  of  obeying  him;-  but  from 
this  hour  I  see  myself  as  I  am  and  as 
he  used  to  call  me,  —  a  clever  fool. 
I  can't  walk  straight  without  some 
honest  man  to  hold  by.  Well,  I'll 
have  one,  though  I  give  up  everything 
else  in  tlie  world  for  it." 

Then  he  went  to  his  little  box  and 
took  out  the  letter  to  George  Field- 
ing. He  looked  at  it  and  reproached 
himself  for  forgetting  it  so  long.  "  A 
letter  from  the  poor  fellow's  sweet- 
heart, too.  I  ought  to  have  sent  it 
by  the  post  if  I  did  not  take  it.  But 
I'will  take  it.  I  '11  ask  iMr.  Miles's 
leave  the  moment  he  comes  home, 
and  start  that  very  day."  Then  he  • 
sat  down  and  read  the  tract  again, 
and,  as  he  read  it,  was  filled  with 
shame  and  contriiion. 

By  one  of  those  freaks  of  mind 
which  it  is  so  hard  to  account  for, 
every  good  feeling  rushed  upou  him 


IT  IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


253 


with  far  greater  power  tlian  when  he 

was  in  Prison,  and,  strange  to 

say,  he  now  loved  liis  reverence  more 
and  took  his  words  deeper  to  heart 
than  lie  had  done  when  ttiey  were  to- 
gether. His  tlesh  crept  with  horror 
at  the  thought  that  he  had  been  a 
criminal  again,  at  least  in  intention, 
and  that  but  for  Heaven's  mercy  he 
would  have  been  taken  and  punished 
with  frightful  severity,  and  above  all 
Avould  have  woimded  his  reverence 
to  the  heart  in  return  for  more  than 
mortal  kindness,  goodness,  and  love. 
And,  to  do  Robinson  justice,  this  last 
thought  made  his  heart  sicken  and 
his  flesh  creep  more  than  all  the  rest. 
He  was  like  a  man  who  had  fallen 
asleep  on  the  brink  of  an  unseen  pre- 
cipice, awoke,  and  looked  down. 

The  penitent  man  said,  his  prayers 
this  morning,  and  vowed  on  his  knees 
humility  and  a  new  life.  Henceforth 
he  would  know  himself;  he  would 
not  attempt  to  guide  himself;  he 
would  just  obey  his  reverence  ;  and  to 
begin,  whenever  a  temptation  came 
in  sight,  he  would  pray  against  it 
then  and  there  and  fly  from  it,  and 
the  moment  his  master  returned  he 
would  leave  the  town  and  get  away 
to  honest  George  Fielding  with  his 
passport,  —  Susan's  letter. 

With  these  prayers  and  these  res- 
olutions a  calm  complacency  stole 
over  him;  he  put  his  reverence's  tract 
and  George's  letter  in  his  bosom,  and 
came  down  into  the  kitchen. 

The  first  person  he  met  was  the 
housemaid  Jenny.  "  O,  here  is  my 
lord!  "  cried  she.  "Where  were  you 
last  nifjht  ?  "  Robinson  stammered 
out,  "  Nowhere  in  particular.  Why  ?  " 
—  "  O,  because  the  master  was  ask- 
ing for  you,  and  you  were  n't  to  be 
found  high  or  low." 

"  What,  is  he  come  home  1  "  — 
*'  Came  home  last  night." 

"  I  '11  go  and  take  him  his  hot  wa- 
ter." —  "  Why,  he  is  not  in  the  house, 
stupid.  He  dressed  the  moment  he 
came  home  and  went  out  to  a  party. 
He  swore  properly  at  your  not  being 
in  the  way  to  help  him  dress." 


"  What  did  he  say  1  "  asked  Robin- 
son, a  little  uneasy.  The  girl's  eyes 
twinkled.  He  said,  "  How  ever  am  I 
to  lace  myself  now  that  scamp  is  not 
in  the  way  1 " 

"  Come,  none  of  your  chaff,  Jenny." 
—  "  Why,  you  know  you  do  lace  him, 
and  pretty  tight  too." 

"  1  do  nothing*  of  the  kind."  — 
"  0,  of  course  you  won't  tell  on  one 
another.  Tell  me  our  head  scamp 
does  not  wear  stays  !  A  man  would 
not  be  as  broad-shouldered  as  that, 
and  have  a  waist  like  a  wasp  and  his 
back  like  a  board,  without  a  little 
lacing,  and  a  good  deal  too." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Jen- 
ny. Won't  you  give  me  a  morsel  of 
breakfast  ?"  —  "  Well,  Tom,  I  can 
give  you  some  just  for  form's  sake ; 
but,  bless  you,  you  won't  be  able  to 
eat  it.'* 

'"  Why  not  ?  "  —  "  Gents  that  are 
out  all  night  bring  a  headache  home 
in  the  morning  in  place  of  an  appe- 
tite." 

"  But  I  was  not  out  all  night.  I  was 
at  home  soon  after  twelve."  —  "  Real- 
ly ?"—"  Really  !"—"  Tom  !  " 

"  Well,  Jane  !  "  —  "  Those  that 
ain't  clever  enough  to  hide  secrets 
should  trust  them  to  those  that  are." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  my 
lass."  —  "  O,  nothino-  ;  only  I  sat  up 
till  half  past  one  in  the  kitchen,  and  I 
listened  till  three  in  my  room." 

"  You  took  a  deal  of  trouble  on  my 
account."  —  "  0,  it  was  more  curiosi- 
ty than  regard,"  was  the  keen  reply. 

—  "  So  I  should  say." 

The  girl  colored  and  seemed  net- 
tled by  this  answer.  She  set  demure- 
ly about  the  work  of  small  vengeance. 
*'  Now,"  said  she,  with  great  cordiality, 
"  you  tell  me  what  you  were  doing  all 
night,  and  why  you  broke  into  the 
house  like  a — a  —  hem!  instead  of 
coming  into  it  like  a  man,  and  then 
you  '11  save  me  the  trouble  of  finding 
it  out  whether  you  like  or  not." 

These  words  chilled  Robinson. 
What !  had  a  spy  been  watching  him, 

—  perhaps  for  days,  — and,  above  all, 
a  female  spy  —  a  thing  with  a  velvet 


254 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


piiw,  a  noiseless  step,  an  inscruta- 
ble countenance,  and  a  microscopic 
eye. 

'  He  hunf?  his  head  over  his  cup  in 
silence.  Jenny's  eye  was  scan n in j^ 
him.  He  felt  that  without  seeinj:^  it. 
lie  was  uneasy  under  it,  but  his  self- 
repi-oach  was  greater  than  his  uneasi- 
ness. 

At  this  juncture  the  street  door  was 
opened  with  a  latch-key.  "  Here 
comes  the  head  scamp,"  said  Jenny, 
with  her  eye  on  Robinson.  The  next 
moment  a  bell  was  rung  sharply. 
Kobinson  rose. 

"Finish  your  breakfast,"  said  Jen- 
ny, "  I  '11  answer  the  bell  "  ;  and  out 
she  went.  She  returned  in  about  ten 
minutes  with  a  dressing-gown  over 
her  arm  and  a  pair  of  curling-irons  in 
her  hand.  "  There,"  said  she,  "  you 
are  to  go  in  the  parlor  and  get  up 
the  young  buck  ;  curl  his  nob  and 
whiskers.  I  wish  it  was  me,  I  'd  curl 
his  ear  the  fir&t  thing  I  'd  curl." 

"  What,  Jane,  did  you  take  the 
trouble  to  bring  them  down  for  me  1  " 
— "  They  look  like  it,"  replied  the 
other,  tartly,  as  if  she  repented  the 
good  office. 

Robinson  went  in  to  his  master. 
He  expected  a  rebuke  for  being  out 
of  the  way ;  but  no  !  he  found  the 
young  gentleman  in  excellent  humor 
and  high  spirits.  "Help  me  off  with 
this  coat,  Tom."  —  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  not  so  rough,  confound  you. 
Ah  !  Ugh  !  "  —  "  Coat 's  a  little'  too 
tight,  sir." 

"No,  it  isn't,  —  it  fits  me  like  a 
glove ;  but  I  am  stiff  and  sore.  There, 
now  get  me  a  shirt." 

Ro!)inson  came  back  with  the  shirt, 
and  aired  it  close  to  the  fire  ;  and,  this 
being  a  favoral)le  position  for  saying 
what  he  felt  awkward  about,  he  be- 
gan. 

"Mr.  Miles,  sir."  — "  Hallo!  " 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  favor."  — 
"  Out  with  it !  " 

"  You  have  been  a  kind  master  to 
me."  —  "I  should  think  I  have,  too. 
By  Jove,  you  won't  find  such  another 
in  a  hurry." 


"  No,  sir,  I  am  sure  I  should  not, 
but  there  is  an  opening  for  me  of  a 
different  sort  altogether.  I  have  a 
friend,  a  squatter,  near  Bathurst,  and 
I  am  to  join  him  if  von  will  be  so 
kind  as  to  let  me  go.^'  —  "  What  an 
infernal  nuisance !  "  cried  the  young 
gentleman,  who  was,  like  most  boys, 
good-natured  and  selfish.  "  The  mo- 
ment I  get  a  servant  I  like  he  wants 
to  go  to  the  Devil." 

"  Only  to  Bathurst,  sir,"  said  Rob- 
inson, deprecatingly,  to  put  him  in  a 
good-hutnor.  —  "  And  what  am  I  to 
do  for  another  ?  " 

At  tliis  moment  incame  Jenny  with 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  breakfast. 
"  Here,  Jenny,"  cried  he,  "  here  's 
Robinson  wants  to  leave  us.  Stupid 
ass  !  " 

Jenny  stood  transfixed  with  the 
tray  in  her  hand.  "  Since  when  ?  " 
asked  she  of  her  master,  hut  looking 
at  Robinson.  —  "  This  moment.  The 
faithful  creature  greeted  my  return 
with  that  proposal." 

"  Well,  sir,  a  servant  is  n't  a  slave, 
and  I  suppose  he  has  a  reason  ?  "  — 
"  Oh  !  they  have  always  got  a  reason, 
such  as  it  is.  Wants  to  go  and  squat 
at  Bathurst.  Well,  Tom,  you  are  a 
fool  for  leaving  us,  but  of  course  we 
sha'n't  pay  you  the  compliment  of 
keeping  you  against  your  will,  shall 
we  ? "  looking  at  Jane. 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  it'  "  re- 
plied she,  opening  her  gray  eyes. 
"  What  is  it  to  me  whether  he  goes  or 
stays  ?  "  —  "  Come,  I  like  that.  Why, 
you  are  the  housemaid  and  he  is  the 
footman,  and  those  two  we  know  are 
always  —  "  And  the  young  gentle- 
man eked  out  his  meaning  by  whis- 
tling a  tune. 

"  Mr.  Miles,"  said  Jenny,  very 
gravely,  like  an  elder  rebuking  a 
younger,  "  you  must  excuse  me,  sir, 
but  I  advise  you  not  to  make  so  free 
with  your  servants.  Servants  are  en- 
croaching, and  they  will  be  sure  to 
take  liberties  with  you  in  turn  ;  and," 
turnintr  suddenly  red  and  angry,  "  if 
you  talk  like  that  to  me  I  shalTleave 
the  room." —  "  Well,  if  you  must,  you 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


255 


must !  but  brinj^  the  teakettle  back 
with  you.     That  is  a  duck  !  " 

Jenny  could  not  help  laughing,  and 
went  for  the  teakettle.  On  her 
return  Hobinson  made  signals  to  her 
over  tlie  master's  head,  which  he  had 
begun  to  friz.  At  first  she  looked 
puzzled,  but  following  the  direction  of 
his  eye  she  saw  that  her  master's  right 
hand  was  terribly  cut  and  swollen. 
"Oh  !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  O  dear !  O 
dear !  " 

"  Eh  1 "  cried  Mr.  Miles,  "  what  is 
the  row?"  —  "Look  at  your  poor 
hand,  sir !  " 

"  O,  ay !  is  n't  it  hideous  ?  Met  with 
an  accident.  Soon  get  well."  —  "  No, 
it  won't,  not  of  itself;  but  I  have  got 
a  capital  lotion  for  bruises,  and  I 
shall  bathe  it  for  you." 

Jenny  brought  in  a  large  basin  of 
warm  water,  and  began  to  foment  it 
first,  touching  it  so  tenderly.  "  And 
his  hand  that  was  as  white  as  a  lady's,"- 
said  Jenny,  pitifully,  "  po-o-r  boy  !  " 
This  kind  exj)ression  had  no  sooner 
escaped  her  than  she  colored  and  bent 
•her  liead  down  over  her  work,  hoping 
it  miiiht  escape  notice. 

"  Young  woman,"  said  Mr.  Miles, 
with  paternal  gravity,  "  servants  are 
advised  not  to  make  too  free  with  their 
masters ;  or  the  beggars  will  forget 
their  place  and  take  liberties  with  you. 
He!  He!  He!" 

Jenny  put  his  hand  quietly  down 
into  the  water,  and  got  up  and  ran 
across  the  room  for  the  door,-  Her 
course  was  arrested  by  a  howl  from 
the  jocose  youth. 

"  Murder  !  Take  him  off,  Jenny  ; 
kick  him  ;  the  beggar  is  curling  and 
laughing  at  the  same  time.  Confound 
you,  can't  you  lay  the  irons  down 
when  I  say  a  good  thing  ?  Ha  !  Ha  ! 
Ha !  " 

This  strange  trio  chuckled  a  space. 
Miles  the  loudest.  "  Tom.  pour  out 
my  tea  ;  and  you,  Jenny,  if  you  will 
come  to  the  scratch  again,  ha  !  ha  ! 
—  I  '11  tell  you  how  I  came  by  this." 

T\)\<  promise  brought  the  inquisi- 
tive Jenny  to  the  basin  directly. 

"  You  know  Hazeltine  ?  "  —  "  Yes, 


sir,  a  tall  gentleman  that  comes  here 
now  and  then.  That  is  the  one  you 
are  to  run  a  race  with  on  the  pulilic 
course,"  put  in  Jenny,  looking  up 
with  a  scandalized  air. 

"  That  is  the  boy :  but  how  the 
deuce  did  you  know  1"  —  "  Gentle- 
men to  run  with  all  the  dirty  boys 
looking  on  like  horses,"  remonstrated 
the  grammatical  one,  "  it  is  a  dis- 
grace." 

"  So  it  is,  —  for  the  one  that  is  beat. 
Well,  I  was  to  meet  Hazeltine  to  sup- 
per, out  of  town.  By  the  by,  you 
don't  know  Tom  Yates  ? "  —  "  O," 
said  Jenny,  "  I  have  heard  of  him, 
too." 

"  I  doubt  that,  there  are  a  good 
many  of  his  name." — "  The  rake  I 
mean  lives  a  mile  or  two  out  of  Syd- 
ney." 

"  So  do  half  a  dozen  more  of  them." 
— "  This  one  is  about  the  biggest 
gambler  and  sharper  unhung," 

"  All  right !  that  is  my  friend ! 
Well,  he  gave  us  a  thundering  sup- 
per, —  lots  of  lush,"  —  "  What  is 
lush  ?  " 

"  Tea  and  coffee  and  barley-water, 
my  dear,  0,  can't  you  put  the  thun- 
dering irons  down  Avhen  I  say  a  good 
thing  ?  Well,  I  must  n't  be  witty 
any  more,  the  penalty  is  too  severe." 

i  need  hardly  say  it  was  not  Mr. 
Miles's  jokes  that  agitated  Kobinson 
now;  on  the  contrary,  in  the  midst 
of  his  curiosity  and  rising  agitation, 
these  jokes  seemed  ghastly  impossi- 
bilities. 

"  Well,  at  ten  o'clock  we  went  up 
stairs  to  a  snug  little  room,  and  all 
four  sat  down  to  a  nice  little  green 
table."  —  "  To  gamble  1  " 

"  No  !  to  whist ;  but  now  comes  the 
fun.  We  had  been  playing  about 
four  hours,  and  the  room  was  hot,  and 
Yates  was  gone  for  a  fresh  pack,  and 
old  Hazeltine  was  gone  into  the  draw- 
ing-room to  cool  liimself.  Presently 
he  comes  back  and  he  says  in  a  whis- 
per, '  Come  here,  old  fellows.'  We 
went  with  him  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  at  first  sight  we  saw  nothing,  but 
presently  flash  came  a  light  right  in 


2r>6 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


our  eyes ;  it  seemed  to  come  from 
somt'tliin'^  p:litrerin<;  in  the  Hrid. 
And  these  flashes  kept  coniin<^  and 
goin;!;.  At  last  we  j^ot  the  governor, 
and  lie  puzzled  over  it  a  little  while. 
'  1  know  what  it  is,'  cried  he,  '  it  is 
my  cueumbcr-glass.'  "  Jenny  looked 
up.  "  Glass  might  glitter,"  said 
she,  "  but  I  don't  see  how  it  could 
flash." 

"  No  more  did  we,  and  we  laughed 
in  the  governor's  face  ;  for  all  that  we 
were  wrong.  '  There  is  somebody 
under  that  wall  with  a  dark-lantern,' 
said  Tom  Yates,  '  and  every  now  and 
then  the  glass  catches  the  glare  and 
reflects  it  this  way.'  '  Solomon  ! ' 
cried  the  rest  of  us.  The  fact  is,  Jen- 
ny, when  Tom  Yates  gets  half  drunk 
he  develops  sagacity  more  than  hu- 
man." (Robinson  gave  a  little  groan.) 
"  Aha,"  cried  Miles,  "  the  beggar  has 
burnt  his  finger.  I'm  glad  of  it. 
Why  should  I  be  the  only  sufferer  by 
his  thundering  irons  ?  '  Here  is  a 
lark,'  said  I,  '  we  '11  nab  this  dark- 
lantern,  —  won't  we.  Hazy  ? '  *  Rath- 
er,' said  Hazy.  '  Wait  till  I  get  my 
pistols,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  cutlass, 
George,'  says  Tom  Yates.  I  forget 
who  George  was  ;  but  he  said  he  was 
of  noble  blood,  and  I  think  myself  he 
Ivas  some  relation  to  the  King-of- 
trumps,  the  whole  family  came  about 
him  so,  —  mind  my  hair,  now.  '  O, 
bother  your  artillery,'  said  I.  '  Thrice 
is  he  anned  that  hath  his  quarrel  just.' 
When  I  'm  a  little  cut  you  may  know 
It  by  my  quoting  vShakespearc.  When 
I  'm  sober  I  don't  remember  a  word 
^f  hiin,  —  and  don't  want  to."  — 
"  No,  the  Sporting  Magazine,  that  is 
your  Bible,  sir,"  suggested  Jenny. 

'•  Yes,  and  let  me  read  it  without 
your  commentary, — mind  my  hair 
now.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh  !  Hazeltine 
and  I  opened  the  door  softly,  and 
lvhippe<l  out,  but  the  beggar  was  too 
sliarp  fi)r  us.  No  doubt  he  heard  the 
door.  Any  way,  before  we  could  get 
through  the  sliruliberv  he  was  off,  and 
we  hjard  him  clarterinLT  down  the 
ro  (I  ever  so  far  off.  However,  we 
followed  quietly  on  the  grass  by  the 


roadside  at  a  fair  travelling  pace,  and 
by  and  by  what  do  you  think  Y  Our 
man  had  pulled  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  and  stood  stock-still.  '  That 
is  a  green  trick,'  thou<;ht  I.  How- 
ever, before  we  could  get  up  to  him, 
he  saw  us  or  heard  us,  and  off  down 
the  road  no  end  of  a  pace.  *  Tally 
ho  ! '  cried  I.  Out  came  Hazy  from 
the  other  hedge,  and  away  we  went, 

—  '  Pug  '  ahead,  *  Growler  '  and 
'  Gay-lad '  scarce  twenty  yards  from 
his  brusli,  and  the  Devil  take  the  hind- 
most. Well,  of  course  we  made  sure 
of  catching  him  in  about  a  hundred 
yards,  —  two  such  runners  as  Hazy 
and  me  —  "  —  "  And  did  not  you  f  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you.  At  first  we  certainly 
gained  on  him  a  few  yards,  but  after  that 
I  could  not  near  him.  But  Hazy  put 
on  a  tremendous  spurt,  and  left  mc 
behind  for  all  I  could  do.  '  Here  is 
a  go,'  thought  I,  '  and  I  have  backed 
•myself  for  a  hundred  pounds  in  a 
half-mile  race  against  this  beggar.' 
Well,  I  was  behind,  but  H:izy  and 
the  fox  seemed  to  me  to  be  joined  to- 
gether running,  when  all  of  a  sudden 

—  poufF!  Hazy's  wind  and  his  pluck 
blew  out  together.  He  tailed  off. 
Was  n't  I  pleased  !  '  Good  by,  Hazy,' 
says  I,  as  I  shot  by  him-^nd  took  up 
the  running.  Well,  I  tried  all  I 
knew  ;  but  this  confounded  fellow  ran 
me  within  half  a  mile  of  Sydney  (N.  B. 
within  two  miles  of  it).  My  throat 
and  all  my  inside  was  like  an  oven, 
and  I  was  thinking  of  tailing  off  too, 
when  I  heard  the  beggar  puff  and 
blow,  so  then  I  knew  I  must  come  up 
with  him  before  long."  —  "And  did 
you,  sir  ?  "  asked  Jenny,  in  great  ex- 
citement. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  I  passed 
him  even."  —  "But  did  you  catch 
him?  " 

"  Well !  why  —  yes  —  I  caught 
him,  —  as  the  Chinese  caught  the 
Tartar.  This  was  one  of  your  downy 
coves  that  are  up  to  every  move. 
When  he  found  he  had  n't  legs  to  run 
froni  me,  he  slips  back  to  meet  me. 
Down  ho  goes  under  my  leg,  — I  go 
blundering  over  him  twenty  miles  an 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


257 


hour.  He  lifts  me  clear  over  his 
head  and  I  come  flying  down  from  the 
clouds  licel  over  tip.  1  'd  give  twenty 
pounds  to  know  how  it  was  done,  and 
titty  to  sec  it  done,  —  to  a  friend.  All 
I  know  is,  that  I  should  have  knocked 
my  own  brains  out  if  it  had  not  been 
for  my  hat  and  my  hand,  —  they  bore 
the  brunt  between  them,  as  you  see." 

—  "And  what  became  of  the  poor 
man  ?  "  asked  Jane. 

"  Well,  when  the  poor  man  had 
flung  me  over  his  head  he  run  on  fast- 
er than  ever,  and,  by  the  time  I  had 
shaken  my  knowledge-box  and  found 
out  north  from  south,  I  heard  the 
poor  man's  nailed  shoes  clattering 
down  the  road.  To  start  again  a 
hundred  yards  behind  a  poor  man 
who  could  run  like  that  would  have 
been  making  a  toil  of  a  trouble,  so  I 
trotted  back  to  meet  Hazy."  —  *'  Well, 
I  am  glad  he  got  otTclear,  —  ain't  yon, 
Tom?"  —  "Yes  —  no.  A  scoundrel 
that  hashed  the  master  like  this, — 
why,  Jane,  you  must  be  mad !  " 

"  Spare  your  virtuous  indignation," 
said  the  other,  coolly.  "  Kemember  I 
had  been  hunting  him  like  a  wild 
beast  till  his  heart  was  nearly  broke, 
and,  when  I  was  down,  he  could  easi- 
ly have  revenged  himself  by  giving 
me  a  kick  with  his  heavy  shoes  on  the 
head  or  tlie  loins,  that  would  have 
spoiled  my  running  for  a  month  of 
Sundays.  What  do  you  say  to  that  1  " 
Robinson  colored.  "I  say  you  are 
very  good  to  make  excuses  for  an 
unfortunate  man  —  for  a  rascal  —  that 
is  to  say,  a  burglar  ;  a  —  " 

"And  how  do  you  know  he  was 
all  that?"  asked  Jenny,  very  sharp- 
ly. —  "Why  did  he  run,  if  he  was 
not  guilty  ?  "  inquired  Robinson,  cun- 
ningly. 

"  Guilty  —  what  of?  "  asked  Jenny. 

—  "  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you," 
replied  Robinson. 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Jenny,  "it  was 
some  peaceable  man  that  took  fright 
at  seeing  t^vo  wild  young  gentlemen 
come  out  like  mad  bulls  after  him." 

—  '•  When  I  have  told  you  my  story, 
you  will  be  better  able  to  judge." 


"  What,  is  n't  the  story  ended  ?  "  — 
"  Ended  ?  The  cream  of  it  is  com- 
ing." 

"  O  sir,"  cried  Jenny,  "  please 
don't  go  on  till  I  come  back.  I  am 
going  tor  the  cold  lotion  now  ;  I  have 
fomented  it  enough." —  "  Well,  look 
sharp  then  ;  here  is  the  other  all  in 
a  twitter  with  excitement." 

"Me,  sir?  No  —  yes.  I  am  nat- 
urally interested." 

"  Well,  you  have  n't  been  long.  I 
don't  think  I  want  any  lotion,  the  hot 
water  has  done  it  a  good  deal  of  good." 
—  "  This  will  do  it  more." 

"But  do  you  know  it  is  rather  a 
bore  to  have  only  one  hand  to  cut 
bread  and  butter  with  ?  "  —  "I  '11  cut 
it,  sir,"  said  Robinson,  laying  down  his 
irons  for  a  moment. 

"  How  long  shall  you  be,  Jenny  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Miles.  —  "I  shall  have 
done  by  when  your  story  is  done,"  re- 
plied she,  coolly. 

Mr.  INIiles  laughed.  "  Well,  Jen- 
ny," said  he,  "I  had  n't  walked  far 
before  I  met  Hazeltine.  'HaAC  you 
got  him  ? '  says  he.  '  Do  I  look  like 
it  ?  '  said  I,  rather  crustily.  Fancy  a 
fool  asking  me  whether  I  had  got 
him  !  So  I  told  him  all  about  it,  and 
we  walked  back  together.  By  and  by 
Ave  met  the  other  two  just  outside  the 
gate.  Well,  just  as  Ave  Avere  going  in, 
Tom  Yates  said,  '  I  say,  suppose  Ave 
look  round  the  premises  before  aa-c  go 
to  bed.'  We  Avcnt  softly  round  the 
house  and  Avhat  did  we  find  but  a  Avin- 
dow  Avith  the  glass  taken  out ;  avc  poked 
about  and  we  found  a  pair  of  shoes. 
'  Why,  there  's  some  one  in  the  house,' 
says  Tom  Yates,  '  as  I  'm  a  sinner.' 
So  we  held  a  council  of  war.  Tom 
Avas  to  go  into  the  kitchen,  lock  the 
door  leading  out,  and  ambush  in  tlie 
larder  Avith  his  pistols  ;  and  Ave  tlirce 
Avere  to  go  in  by  the  front  door  and 
search  the  house.  Well,  Hazeltine 
and  I  had  got  Avithin  a  yard  or  tAA-o  of 
it,  and  the  knave  of  trumps  in  the 
rear  with  a  SAA'ord  or  something,  Avhen, 
by  George,  sir,  the  door  began  to  open, 
and  out  slips  a  felloAV  quietly.  Long 
Hazy  and  I  went  at  him,  Hazy  first. 


258 


"IT   IS   NEVEPv   TOO  LATE   TO   JIEXI). 


Crack  he  caurrht  Hazy  on  the  head 
with  a  l)lu(l;.'('on,  down  went  daddy- 
lonfj-legs,  and  1  }:ot  entanjrk-d  in  him, 
and  the  lobbcr  cut  like  tlie  wind  for 
the  kitchen.  '  Come  on."  sliouted  I, 
to  the  honorable  thinjrumhoh,  bother 
liis  n:ime — there — the  knave  of 
trumps,  and  I  pulled  up  Hazy  but 
couldn't  wait  for  him,  and  after  the 
beggar  like  mad.  Well,  as  I  came 
near  the  kitchen  door,  I  heard  a  small 
scrimmage,  ajul  hack  comes  my  man 
flying  bludgeon  in  one  hand  and  knife 
in  the  other,  both  whirling  over  his 
head  like  a  windmill.  I  kept  cool, 
doubled  my  right,  and  put  in  a  heavy 
one  from  the  armpit,  you  know,  Tom  ; 
caught  him  just  under  t!ie  chin,  you 
might  have  heard  ids  jaw  crack  a  mile 
olf ;  down  goes  my  man  on  his  back 
flat  on  the  bricks,  and  his  bludgeon 
rattled  one  way  and  his  knife  the 
other,  —  such  a  lark.  Oh!  oh!  oh! 
what  are  you  doing,  Robinson  ?  you 
hurt  me  most  confoundedly,  —  I  won't 
tell  you  any  more.  So,  now  he  was 
down,  in  popt  the  knave  of  swords 
and  fell  on  him,  and  Hazy  came  stag- 
gering in  after  and  insulted  him  a  bit, 
and  we  bagged  him." 

"  And  the  other,  sir,"  asked  Tom, 
aflfecting  an  inditferent  tone,  "  he 
didn't  net  off.  I  hope?"  — "What 
other  ?  "  inquired  Jenny. 

"  The  other  unfbr —  the  other  ras- 
cal —  the  burglar."  —  "  Why,  he  nev- 
er said  there  were  two." 

"Y — yes! — he  said  they  found 
their  shoes."  —  "  No,  he  said  he  found 
a  pair-  of  shoes." 

"  For  all  that,  you  are  wrong,  Jen- 
ny, and  he  is  right,  —  there  were  two  ; 
and  what  is  more  Tom  Yates  had 
got  the  other,  threatening  to  blow  our 
his  brains  if  he  moved,  so  down  he 
sat  on  the  dresser  and  took  it  quite 
easy,  and  whistled  a  tune  while  we 
trussed  the  other  beggar  with  his  own 
bludgeon  and  our  chokers.  Tom 
Yates  says  tlie  cool  one  tumbled  down 
from  up  stairs  just  as  we  drove  our 
one  in.  Tom  let  them  try  the  door 
before  he  bounced  out ;  then  my  one 
flung  a  chair  at  Tom's  head  and  cut 


back  ;  Tom  nnilcd  the  other,  and  I 
floored  mine  ;  Ilurrali !  " 

Through  this  whole  narrative  Ivolv 
inson  had  coolly  and  delicately  to 
curl  live  hair  with  a  healing  heart, 
and  to  curl  the  very  man  who  was  re- 
lating all  the  time  how  he  had  hunted 
him  and  caught  his  comrades.  Mean- 
time, a  shrewd  woman  there  listening 
with  all  her  ears,  a  woman,  too,  who 
had  certain  vague  suspicions  about 
him,  and  had  taken  him  up  rather 
sharper  than  natural,  he  thought, 
when,  being  off  his  guard  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  anticipated  the  narrator, 
and  assumed  there  were  two  burglars 
in  the  house. 

Tom,  therefore,  though  curious 
and  anxious,  shut  his  face  and  got  on 
his  guard,  and  it  was  with  an  ad- 
mirable imitation  of  mere  sociable 
curiosity  that  he  inquired,  "  And 
what  did  the  rascals  say  for  them- 
selves ?  " 

"  What  could  they  say  ?  "  said  Jen- 
ny;  "  they  were  caught*in  the  fact." 

"  To  do  them  justice,  they  did  not 
speak  of  themselves,  but  they  said 
three  or  four  words,  too,  —  very  much 
to  the  point." 

"  How  interesting  it  is  !  "  cried 
Jenny  ;  "  what  about  'il'  —"  Well  ! 
it  was  about  your  friend." 

"  My  friend  ?  "  —  "  The  peaceable 
gentleman  the  two  young  ruffians  had 
chased  down  the  road." 

"  Oh  !  he  was  one  of  them,"  said 
Jane,  "  that  is  plain  enough  now,  in 
course.  What  did  they  say  about 
him  ?  " 

'• '  Sold  ! '  says  my  one  to  Tom's. 
'And  no  mistake,'  says  Tom's.  O, 
they  spoke  out,  took  no  more  notice 
of  us  four  than  if  we  had  no  ears. 
Then  says  mine :  '  What  do  you 
think  of  ifoiir  pal  now  ?  '  and  what  do 
you  think  Tom's  answered.  Jenny  ? 
—  it  was  rather  a  curious  answer,  — 
mnltum  in  pdrvo,  as  we  say  at  school, 
and  one  that  makes  me  fear  there  is 
a  storm  brewing  for  our  mutual  friend, 
the  peaceable  gentleman,  Jenny,  — 
alias  the  downy  runner." 

"  Why,  what  did  he  say  1"  —  "  He 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


259 


said,  'I  think  —  he  won't  be  alive  this 
clay  week  !  '  " 

"  The  wretches  !  "  —  *'  No  !  you 
don't  see,  —  they  thought  he  had  be- 
trayed tlieni." 

"  But  of  course  you  undeceived 
them,  sir,"  said  Robinson.  —  "No!  I 
d  id  n  't.  Why,  you  precious  greenhorn, 
was  that  our  game  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  cried  Robinson,  cheer- 
fully, "  any  way  it  was  a  good  night's 
work.  The  only  thing  vexes  me,^' 
added  he,  with  an  intense  air  of  mor- 
tification, "  is  that  the  worst  scoundrel 
of  the  lot  got  clear  otF;  that  is  a  pity, 

—  a  downright  pity."  —  '•  Make  your 
mind  easy,"  replied  Mr.  Miles,  calmly, 
"  he  won't  escape  ;  we  shall  have  him 
before  the  day  is  out." 

"  Will  you,  sir?  that  is  right,  —  but 
how  1"  —  "  The  honorable  thingum- 
bob, Tom  Yates's  friend,  put  us  up  to 
it.  We  sent  the  pair  down  to  Sydney 
in  the  break,  and  we  put  Yates's  groom 
(he  is  a  ticket-of-leave)  in  with  them, 
and  a  bottle  of  brandy,  and  he  is  to 
condole  with  them  and  have  a  guinea 
if  they  let  out  the  third  man's  name, 
and  they  will,  —  for  they  are  bitter 
against  him." 

Robinson  sighed.  "What  is  the 
matter,"  said  his  master,  trying  to 
twist  his  head  round.  —  "Nothing! 
only  I  am  afraid  they  —  they  won't 
split ;  fellows  of  that  sort  don't  split 
on  a  comrade  Avhere  they  can  get  no 
good  by  it." 

"Well,  if  they  don't,  still  we  shall 
have  him.     One  of  us  saw  his  face." 

—  "Ah!" 

"  It  was  the  honorable  —  the  knave 
of  trumps.  Whilst  Yates  was  getting 
tlie  arms.  Trumps  slipped  out  by  the 
garden  gate  and  cau<rht  a  glimpse  of 
our  friend  ;  he  saw  him  take  the  lan- 
tern up  and  fling  it  down  and  run. 
The  lij^rht  fell  full  on  his  face,  and  he 
could  swear  to  it  out  of  a  thousand. 
So  the  net  i^  round  our  friend,  and  we 
shall  have  him  before  the  day  is  out." 

'  l)ring-a-dong  dring "  (a  ring  at 
the  bell). 

"  Have  you  done,  Tom  ?  "  —  "  Just 
one  turn  more,  sir." 


"  Then,  Jenny,  you  see  who  that 
is?"  Jenny  went  and  returned  w'ith 
an  embossed  card.  "  It  is  a  young 
gentleman,  —  mustache  and  lavender 
gloves  ;  oh  such  a  buck !  " 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  the  '  Honorable 
George  Lascelles '  ?  why,  that  is  the 
very  man.  I  remember  he  said  he 
would  do  himself  the  honor  to  call  on 
me.  That  is  the  knave  of  trumps  ; 
go  down  directly,  Robinson,  and  tell 
him  I  'm  at  home,  and  bring  him  up." 

—  "  Yes,  sir !  " 

"  Yes,  sir !  Well,  then,  why  don't 
you  go  ?  "  —  "  Um  !  perhaps  Jenny 
will  go  while  I  clear  these  things 
away  "  ;  and  without  waiting  for  an 
answer  Robinson  hastened  to  encum- 
ber himself  with  the  tea-tray,  and 
flung  the  loaf  and  curling-irons  into 
it,  and  bustled  about  and  showed  a 
sudden  zeal  lest  this  bachelor's  room 
should  appear  in  disorder ;  and  as 
Jenny  mounted  the  front  stairs,  fol- 
lowed by  the  sprig  of  nobility,  he 
plimged  heavily  laden  down  the  back 
stairs  into  the  kitchen  and  off  with  his 
coat  and  cleaned  knives  like  a  mad 
thing. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  had  but  a  pound  in  my 
pocket,"  thought  he,  "  I  would  not 
stay  another  hour  in  Sydney.  I'd 
get  my  ring  arrd  run  for  Hathurst  and 
never  look  behind  me.  How  comfort- 
able and  happy  I  was  until  I  fell  back 
into  the  old  courses,  and  now  see 
what  a  life  mine  has  been  ever  since ! 
What  a  twelve  hours  !  hunted  like  a 
wild  beast,  suspected  and  watched  by 
my  fellow-servant,  and  forced  to  hide 
my  thoughts  from  this  one  and  my 
face  from  that  one ;  but  I  deserve  it, 
and  I  wish  it  was  ten  times  as  bad. 
Oh  !  you  fool  —  you  idiot  —  you  brute 

—  it  is  not  the  half  of  what  you 
deserve.  I  ask  but  one  thing  of  Heav- 
en, —  that  his  reverence  may  never 
know  ;  don't  let  me  break  that  good 
man's  heart;  IM  much  rather  die 
before  the  day  is  out !  " 

At  this  moment  Jenny  came  in. 
Robinson  cleaned  the  poor  knives 
harder  still,  and  did  not  speak  ;  his 
cue  was  to  find  out  what  was  passing 


260 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


in  the  girl's  mind.  But  she  washed 
her  cup  and  saucer  and  plates  in  si- 
lence.    Presently  the  bell  ranj;. 

"  Tom  !  "  said  Jenny,  (juietly.  — 
"  Would  you  mind  goinjr,  Jenny  ?  " 

"  Me  !  it  is  nut  my  business."  — 
"  No,  Jenny  !  but  once  in  a  way,  if 
you  will  be  so  kind." 

"  Once !  why,  I  have  been  twice  to 
the  door  for  you  to-day.  You  to  your 
place  and  I  to  mine.     Sha'  n't  go  !  " 

—  "  Look  at  me  with  my  coat  otf  and 
covered  with  brickdust." 

"  Put  your  coat  on  and  shake  the 
dust  otf.''  —  "O  Jenny!  that  is  not 
like  you  to  refuse  me  such  a  tritle.  I 
would  not  disoblige  you  so." 

"  I  did  n't  refuse,"  said  Jenny,  mak- 
ing for  the  door  ;  "  I  only  said  *  no ' 
once  or  twice,  —  ice  don't  call  that  re- 
fusing "  ;  but  as  she  went  out  of  the 
door  she  turned  sharp  as  if  to  catch 
Kobinson's  face  otf  its  guard ;  and 
her  gray  eye  dwelt  on  him  with  one 
of  those  demure,  inexplicable  looks 
her  se-x  can  give  all  ab  extra,  —  seeing 
all,  revealing  nothing. 

She  returned  with  her  face  on  fire. 
"  That  is  what  I  get  for  taking  your 
place !  " 

"What  is  the  matter?"  —  "That 
impudent  young  villain  wanted  to 
kiss  me." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?  "  —  "  No  !  it  is 
not  all ;  he  said  I  was  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Sydney  "  (with  an  appearance 
of  rising  indignation). 

"  Well !  but,  Jenny,  that  is  no  news, 
I  could  have  told  hini  that."  —  "  Then 
why  did  you  never  tell  me  ?  "  —  "I 
thought  by  your  manner  —  you  knew 
it." 

Having  tried  to  propitiate  the  foe 
thus,  Kubinson  lost  no  more  time,  but 
went  up  stairs  and  asked  Mr.  Miles 
for  the  trifle  due  to  him  as  wages. 
Mr.  Miles  was  very  sorry,  but  he  had 
been  cleaned  out  a"t  his  friend  Yates's, 

—  had  not  a  shilling  left  and  no  hopes 
of  any  for  a  fortnight  to  come.  "  Then, 
sir,"  said  Robinson,  doggedly,  "  I  hope 
you  will  allow  me  to  go  into  the  town 
and  try  and  make  a  little  for  myself, 
just  enough  to  pay  my  travelling  ex- 


penses."—  "  By  all  means,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  tell  me  if  you  succeed,  and 
I  '11  borrow  a  sovereign  of  you." 

Out  went  Kobinson  into  the  town 
of  Sydney.  He  got  into  a  respectable 
street,  and  knocked  at  a  good  house 
with  a  green  door.  He  introduced 
himself  to  the  owner  as  a  first-rato 
painter  and  ingrainer,  and  otfered  to 
turn  this  door  into  a  mahogany,  wal- 
nut, oak,  or  what-not  door.  "  The 
house  is  beautiful  all  but  the  door," 
said  sly  Tom  ;  "  it  is  blistered."  — 
"  1  am  quite  content  with  it  as  it  is," 
was  the  reply,  in  a  rude,  supercilious 
tone. 

Robinson  went  away  discomfited  ; 
he  went  doggedly  down  the  street, 
begging  them  all  to  have  their  doors 
beautified,  and  wincing  at  every  re- 
fusal. At  last  he  found  a  shopkeeper 
who  had  no  objection,  but  doubted 
Robinson's  capacity.  "  Show  me  what 
you  can  do,"  said  he,  slyly  "  and  then 
I'll  talk  to  you."  —  "Send  for  the 
materials,"  replied  the  artist,  "  and 
give  me  a  board,  and  I  '11  put  half  a 
dozen  woods  on  the  face  of  it." 

"And  pray,"  said  the  man,  "why 
should  I  lay  out  my  money  in  advertis- 
ing you  ?  No  !  you  bring  me  a  speci- 
men, and  if  it  is  all  riglrt  I  '11  give  you 
the  job."  —  "  That  is  a  bargain,"  re- 
plied Robinson,  and  went  off.  "  How 
hard  they  make  honesty  to  a  poor  fel- 
low," muttered  he,  bitterly,  "  but  I  '11 
beat  them  "  ;  and  he  clenched  his  teeth. 

He  went  to  a  pawnbroker  and 
pawned  the  hat  off  his  head, —  it  was 
a  new  one  ;  then  for  a  half-penny  he 
bought  a  sheet  of  brown  paper  and 
twisted  it  into  a  workman's  cap  ;  he 
bought  the  brushes  and  a  little  ]iaint 
and  a  little  varnish,  and  then  he  was 
without  a  penny  again.  He  went  to 
a  wheelwright's  and  begged  the  loan  of 
a  small,  valueless,  worm-eaten  board 
he  saw  kicking  about,  telling  him 
what  it  was  for.  The  wealthy  wheel- 
wright eyed.him  with  scorn.  "  Should 
I  ever  see  it  again  ?  "  asked  he  ironi- 
cally. "  Keep  it  for  your  coffin, " 
said  Robinson  fiercely,  and  passed  on. 

"  How  hard  they  make  honesty  to  a 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


261 


poor  fellow !  I  was  a  fool  for  asking 
for  it  when  I  mi<;ht  have  taken  it. 
What  was  there  to  hinder  me  f  Hon- 
esty, mv  lass,  you  are  bitter." 

Presently  he  c-ame  to  tiie  suburbs, 
and  there  was  a  small  wooden  eottage. 
The  owner,  a  common  laborer,  was 
repairing'  it  as  well  as  he  could.  Rob- 
inson asked  him  very  timidly  if  he 
could  spare  a  couple  of  square  feet  otF 
a  board  he  was  sawing.  "  What 
for?"  Robinson  showed  his  paiut- 
pot  and  brushes,  and  told  liiui  how  he 
was  at  a  stand-still  for  want  of  a  board. 
"  It  is  only  a  loan  of  it  I  ask,  "  said  he. 

The  man  measured  the  plank  care- 
fully, and  after  some  hesitation  cut  off 
a  good  piece.  "  1  can  spare  that 
much,"  said  he;  "poor  folk  should 
feel  for  one  another."  —  "1  '11  bi  ing 
it  back,  you  may  depend,"  said  Rob- 
inson.—  "  You  needn't  trouble,"  re- 
plied the  laboring  man,  with  a  droll 
wink,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Gam- 
mon !  " 

When  Robinson  returned  to  the 
sceptical  shopkeeper  with  a  board  on 
which  oak,  satin-wood,  walnut,  etc., 
were  imitated  to  the  life  in  squares, 
that  worthy  gave  a  start  and  betrayed 
his  admiration,  and  Robinson  asked 
him  five  shillings  more  than  he  would 
if  the  other  had  been  more  considerate. 
In  short,  before  evening  the  door  was 
painted  a  splendid  imitation  of  wal- 
nut-wood, the  shop-keeper  was  en- 
chanted, and  Robinson  had  fifteen 
shillings  handed  over  to  him.  He 
ran  and  got  Mr.  Eden's  ring  out  of 
pawn,  and  kis>ed  it  and  put  it  on  ; 
next  he  liberated  his  hat.  He  slept 
better  this  night  than  the  last.  "  One 
more  such  day  and  1  shall  have 
enough  to  pay  my  expenses  to  Bath- 
urst." 

He  turned  out  early  and  went  into 
the  town.  He  went  into  the  street 
where  he  had  worked  last  evening, 
and  when  he  came  near  his  door  there 
was  a  knot  of  persons  round  it.  Rob- 
inson joined  them.  Presently  one  of 
the  shop-boys  cried  out,  "  Why,  here 
he  is,  this  is  the  painter  !  " 

Instantly  three  or  four  hands  were 


laid  on  Robinson.  "  Come  and  paint 
my  door."  —  "  No,  come  and  paint 
mine  !  "  —  "  No,  mine  !  " 

Tom  had  never  been  in  such  re^ 
quest  since  he  was  an  itinerant  quack. 
His  sly  eye  twinkled,  and  this  artist 
put  hunself  up  to  auction  then  and 
there.  He  was  knocked  down  to  a 
tradesman  in  the  same  street,  — 
twenty-one  shillings  the  price  of  this 
door  (mock  mahogany).  While  he 
was  working,  commissions  poured  in 
and  Robinson's  price  rose,  the  demand 
for  him  being  greater  than  the  supply. 
The  mahogany  door  Avas  really  SLchef- 
d'ijtuvre.  He  came  home  triumphant 
with  thirty  shillings  in  his  pocket,  he 
spread  them  out  on  the  kitchen  table 
and  looked  at  them  with  a  pride  and 
a  thrill  of  joy  money  never  gave  him 
before.  He  had  often  closed  the 
shutters  and  furtively  spread  out 
twice  as  many  sovereigns,  but  they 
were  only  his,  these  shillings  were  his^ 
own.  And  they  were  not  only  his' 
own,  but  his  own  by  labor.  Each  sa- 
cred shilling  represented  so  much  vir- 
tue, for  industry  J^^  a  virtue.  He 
looked  at  them  with  a  father's  pridp. 

How  sweet  the  butter  our  own  bauds  have 
churned  I  —  T.  T. 

He  blessed  his  reverend  friend  for 
having  taught  him  an  art  in  a  dung- 
hole  where  idiots  and  savages  teach 
crank.  He  blessed  his  reverence's 
four  bones,  his  favorite  imprecation  of 
the  benevolent  kind.  I  conclude  the 
four  bones  meant  the  arms  and  legs  ; 
if  so,  it  would  have  been  more  to  the 
point  had  he  blessed  the  fifth,  —  the 
skull. 

Jenny  came  in  and  found  him 
gloating  over  his  virtuous  shillings. 
She  stared.  He  told  her  what  he  had 
been  about  these  two  days  past,  his 
difficulties,  his  success,  the  admiration 
his  work  excited  throughout  the  capi- 
tal (he  must  exaggerate  a  little  or  it 
would  not  be  Tom  Robinson),  and 
the  wealth  he  was  amassing. 

Jenny  was  glad  to  hear  this,  very 
glad,  but  she  'scolde<l  him  well  for 
pawning  his  hat.     '*  Why  did  n't  you 


2C2 


"  IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


ask  mc  ?  "  said  she  ;  "  I  would  have  I 
lent  you   a   pound  or   even    two,  or 
pvcn    tlic'Ui    you  for  any  honest    pur- 
pose."    And    Jenny   pouteil  and  got 
up  a  little  (luarrel. 

The  next  day  a  gentleman  caught 
Ro')inson  and  made  him  paint  two 
doors  in  his  fancy  villa.  Satin-wood 
tliis  time ;  and  he  received  three 
pounds  three  shillinns,  a  good  dinner, 
and  what  Bohemians  all  adore,  — 
rraise.  Now  as  he  returned  in  the 
evening  u  sudden  misgiving  came  to 
him.  "  I  have  not  thouglit  once  of 
liathurst  to  -  day.  I  see,  —  all  this 
money-making  is  a  contrivance  to 
keep  me  in  Sydney.  It  is  absurd  my 
coining  paint  at  this  rate.  I  see  your 
game,  my  lad  ;  either  I  am  to  fall  into 
bad  company  again,  or  to  be  split 
upou  and  nabbed  for  that  last  job. 
To-morrow  I  will  be  on  the  road  to 
Bathurst.  I  can  paint  there  just  as 
well  as  here ;  besides,  I  have  got  my 
orders  from  his  reverence  to  go,  and 
I '11  go." 

He  told  Jane  his  resolution :  she 
made  no  answer.  While  these  two 
were  sitting  cosily  by  the  fireside,  for 
since  liobinson  took  to  working  hard 
all  day  he  began  to  relish  the  hearth 
at  night,  suddenly  cheerful,  boisterous 
voices, — and  Mr.  Miles  and  two 
friends  burst  in  and  would  have  an 
extempore  supper,  and  nothing  else 
would  serve  these  libertines  but  mut- 
ton-chops off  the  gridiron.  So  they 
invaded  the  kitchen.  Out  ran  Jenny 
to  avoid  them.  —  or  put  on  a  smarter 
cap ;  and  Robinson  was  to  cut  the 
chopj  and  lay  a  cloth  on  the  dresser 
and  help  cook.  While  his  master  went 
off  to  the  cellar,  the  two  rakes  who 
remained  chattered  and  laughed  both 
pretty  loud.  They  had  dined  togeth- 
er and  the  bottle  had  not  stoo  I  still. 

"  I  have  heard  that  voice  b.-fore," 
thought  Robinson.  "  It  is  a  very  pe- 
culiar voice.   Whose  voice  is  that  ?  " 

He  looked  the  gentleman  full  in 
the  face,  and  could  hardly  suppress  a 
movement  of  surprise. 

The  gentleman  by  the  instinct  of 
the  eye  caught  his,  and  his  attention 


was  suddenly  attracted  to  Robinson, 
and  from  'that  moment  his  eye  was 
never  off  Robinson,  following  him 
everywhere.  Robinson  affecteil  not 
to  notice  this  ;  the  chops  were  grill- 
ing, Jenny  came  in  and  bustled 
about  and  pretended  not  to  hear  the 
side- compliments  of  the  libertines. 
Presently  the  young  gentleman  with 
the  peculiar  voice  took  out  his  pocket- 
book  and  said  :  "  I  have  a  bet  to 
propose.  1  '11  bet  you  fifty  pounds 
I  find  the  man  you  two  hunted  down 
the  road  on  Monday  night."  —  "No 
takers,"  replied  Mr.  Hazeltine,  with 
his  mouth  full. 

"  Stop  a  bit.  I  don't  care  if  I  make 
a  time  bet,"  said  Miles.  "  How  soon 
will  you  bet  you  catch  him  ?  " —  "  la 
half  an  hour,"  was  the  cool  reply. 
And  the  Honorable  George  while 
making  it  managed  at  the  same  time, 
in  a  sauntering  sort  of  way,  to  put 
himself  between  Robinson  and  the 
door  that  led  out  into  the  garden. 
Robinson  eyed  him  in  silence  and 
never  moved. 

"  In  half  an  hour.  That  is  a  fair 
bet,"  said  Mr.  Miles.  "  Shall  I  take 
him  ?  "  — ' "  Better  not ;  he  is  a  know- 
ing one.  He  has  seen  him  to  earth 
somewhere,  or  he  wouid~not  offer  you 
such  a  bet." 

"  Well,  I  '11  bet  you  five  to  three," 
proposed  the  Honorable  George.  — 
*'  Done!"  —  "  Done!" 

Rol)inson  put  in  a  hasty  word : 
"  And  what  is  to  become  of  Thimble- 
rig  Jem,  sir  ?  "  These  words  addressed 
to  Mr.  Lascelles  produceil  a  singnlar 
effect.  That  gentleman  gave  an  im- 
mediate shiver  as  if  a  bullet  had 
pissed  clean  through  him  and  out 
a.uain,  and  then  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  first  at  one  door  then  at  the  oth- 
er, as  if  hesitating  which  he  should  ;;o 
by.  Robinson  continued,  addressing 
him  with  marked  re-^pect,  "  What  I 
mean,  sir,  is  that  tliere  is  a  govern- 
ment reward  of  two  hundred  pounds 
for  Thimble-rig  Jem,  and  the  ])olice 
would  n't  like  to  be  drawn  away  from 
two  huu  Ired  pounds  after  a  ])oor  fel- 
low like  him  you  s^w  on  Mouday 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  ME^D.' 


2G3 


night,  —  one  that  is  only  suspfictcd 
and  no  reward  olfered.  Now  Jem  is 
a  notorious  culprit," 

"  Who  is  this  Jem,  my  man  1  \Yhat 
is  he?"  asked  JMr.  Lascelles,  with  a 
coftiposure  that  contrasted  remarlcably 
witli  his  late  emotion.  —  "A  convict 
escaped  from  Norfolk  Island,  sir:  an 
old  otlender.  I  fell  in  with  him  once. 
He  has  forgotten  me,  I  dare  say,  but  1 
never  forget  a  man.  They  say  he  has 
grown  a  mustache  and  whiskers  and 
passes  himself  off  for  a  nob;  but  I 
could  swear  to  him. " 

"  How  ?  By  what  ?  "  cried  Mr. 
Miles.  —  "If  he  should  ever  be  fool 
enough  to  get  in  my  way  —  " 

"  Hang  Thimble-rig  Jem,"  cried 
Hazeltine.  "  Is  it  a  bet,  Lascelles  ?  " 
—  "  What?  "  —  "That  you  nab  our 
one  in  half  an  hour  ?  "  Mr.  Lascelles 
affected  an  aristocratic  drawl :  "  No, 
I  was  joking.  I  could  n't  aiFord  to 
leave  the  fire  for  thirty  pounds.  Why 
should  I  run  after  the  poor  dayvil  1 
Find  him  yourselves.  He  never  an- 
noyed me.     Got  a  cigar,  Miles  1  " 

After  their  chops,  etc.,  the  rakes 
went  off  to  finish  the  night  elsewhere. 

"  There,  they  are  gone  at  last ! 
Why,  Jenny,  how  pale  you  look  !  " 
said  Robinson,  not  seeing  the  color  of 
his  own  check.  "  What  is  wrong  ?  " 
Jenny  answered  by  sitting  down  and 
bursting  out  crying.  Tom  sat  oppo- 
site her  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
"  O,  what  I  have  gone  through  this 
day  !  "  cried  Jenny.  "  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 
oil  !  "  sobbing  convulsively- 

What  could  Tom  do  but  console 
her?  And  she  found  it  so  agreeable 
to  be  consoled  that  she  prolonged  her 
distress.  An  impressionable  Bohe- 
mian on  one  side  a  fireplace,  and  a 
sweet  pretty  girl  crying  on  the  other, 
what  wonder  that  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  found  this  pair  sitting  on  the 
same  side  of  the  fire  aforesaid,  —  her 
hand  in  his  ? 

The  next  morning  at  six  o'clock 
Jenny  was  down  to  make  his  break- 
fast for  him  before  starting.  If  she 
had  said,  "  Don't  go,"  it  is  to  be  feared 
the  temptation  would  have  been  too 


strong,  but  she  did  not ;  she  said  sor- 
rowfully, "  You  are  right  to  leave  this 
town."  She  never  explained.  Tom 
never  heard  from  her  own  lips  how 
far  her  suspicions  went.  He  was  a 
coward,  and,  seeing  how  shrewd  she 
was,  was  afraid  to  ask  her ;  and  she 
was  one  of  your  natural  ladies  who 
can  leave  a  thing  unsaid  out  of  deli- 
cacy. 

Tom  Robinson  was  what  Jenny 
called  *'  capital  company."  He  had 
won  her  admiration  by  his  conversa- 
tion, his  stories  of  life,  and  now  and 
then  a  song,  and  by  his  good  looks  and 
good  nature.  She  disguised  her  af- 
fection admirably  until  he  was  in  dan- 
ger and  about  to  leave  her,  and  then 
she  betrayed  herself.  If  she  was  fire, 
he  was  tow.  At  last  it  came  to  this  : 
"  Don't  you  cry  so,  dear  girl.  I  have 
got  a  question  to  put  to  you,  —  If  I 

COME  BACK  A  BETTER  MAN  THAN  I 
GO,  WILL  YOD  BE  MrS.  KoBINSON  ?  " 
-"Yes." 


CHAPTER    LL 

Robinson  started  for  Bathurst. 
Just  before  he  got  clear  of  the  town 
he  passed  the  poor  man's  cottage  who 
had  lenfrhim  the  board.  "Bless  me, 
how  came  I  to  forget  him  ?  "  said  he. 
At  that  moment  the  man  came  out 
to  go  to  work.  "  Here  I  am,"  said 
Robinson,  meeting  him  full,  "  and  here 
is  your  board  " ;  showing  it  to  him 
painted  in  squares.  "  Can't  afford  to 
giv6  it  you  back,  —  it  is  my  advertise- 
ment. But  here  is  half  a  crown  for  it 
and  for  your  trusting  me."  —  "  Well, 
to  be  sure,"  cried  the  man.  "  Now 
who  'd  have  thought  this  ?  Why,  if 
the  world  is  not  turning  honest.  But 
half  a  crown  is  too  much ;  't  aiu't 
worth  the  half  of  it." 

"  It  was  worth  five  pounds  to  me. 
I  got  employment  through  it.  Look 
here,"  and  he  showed  him  several 
pounds  in  silver;  "all  this  came 
from  your  board  ;  so  take  your  half- 
crown  and  my  thanks  on  the  head 
of  it." 


2G4 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


The  half-crown  lay  in  the  man's 
palm  ;  he  looked  in  Robinson's  face  : 
"  Well,"  cried  he,  with  astonishment, 
"you  are  the  honestost  man  ever  I  fell 
in  with."  —  "1  am  the  honcstest  man  ! 
You  will  go  to  heaven  for  sa^'ing 
those  words  to  me,"  cried  liohinson, 
warmly  and  with  agitation.  "  Good 
by,  my  good,  charitable  sonl  ;  you  de- 
serve ten  times  what  you  have  got  " ; 
and  Robinson  made  off. 

The  other  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
the  shock  shouted  after  him  :  "  Good 
by,  honest  man,  and  good  luck  wher- 
ever you  go." 

And  Robinson  heard  him  scuttle 
about  and  hastily  convene  small  boys 
and  despatch  tiiem  down  tiie  road  to 
look  at  an  honest  man.  But  the 
young  wood  did  not  kindle  at  his 
enthusiasm.  Had  the  rarity  been  a 
bear  with  a  monkey  on  him,  well  and 
good. 

"  I  'm  pretty  well  paid  for  a  little 
honesty,"  thought  Robinson.  He 
stepped  gallantly  out  in  high  spirits, 
and  thouglit  of  Jenny,  and  fell  in  love 
with  her,  and  saw  in  her  attection  yet 
another  inducement  to  be  honc'^t  and 
industrious.  Nothing  of  note  happened 
on  his  way  to  Bathurst,  except  that 
one  day,  as  he  was  tramping  along 
very  hot  and  thirsty,  a  luscioHS  prick- 
ly pear  hung  over  a  wall,  and  many  a 
respectable  man  would  have  taken  it 
without  scruple ;  but  Tom  was  so 
afraid  of  beginning  again  he  turned 
his  back  on  it,  and  ran  on  instead 
of  walking,  to  make  sure. 

When  he  reached  Bathurst  his  purse 
was  very  low,  and  he  h.ul  a  good 
many  more  miles  to  go,  and  not  feel- 
ing quite  sure  of  his  welcome  lie  did 
not  care  to  be  penniless,  so  he  went 
round  the  town  Aviih  his  advertising- 
board  and  very  soon  wns  painting 
doors  in  Bathurst.  lie  found  the  na- 
tives stingier  here  than  in  Sydney, 
and  they  had  a  notion  a  traveller  like 
him  ought  to  work  much  cheaper 
than  an  established  man  ;  but  still  he 
put  by  something  every  day. 

He  had  lieen  three  days  in  the  town 
when  a  man  ste^ipcd  up  to  him  as  he 


finislred  a  job  and  asked  him  to  go 
home  with  him.  The  man  took  him 
to  a  small  but  rather  neat  shop, 
plumber's,  glazier's,  and  painter's. 

"  Why,  you  don't  want  me,"  said 
Robinson  ;  "  we  are  in  the  same  line 
of  business."  —  "Step  in,"  said  the 
man.  In  a  few  words  he  let  Robin- 
son know  that  he  had  a  great  bar- 
gain to  offer  him.  "  I  am  going  to 
sell  the  shop,"  said  he.  "  It  is  a 
business  I  never  much  fancied,  and  I 
had  rather  sell  it  to  a  stranger  than 
to  a  Hathurst  man,  for  the  trade  have 
offended  me.  There  is  not  a  man 
in  the  colony  can  work  like  you, 
and  you  may  make  a  little  fortune 
here." 

Robinson's  eye  sparkled  a  mo- 
ment, then  he  replied  :  "  I  am  too  ])oor 
to  buy  a  business.  What  do  you 
want  for  it  ?  "  —  "  Only  sixty  ]>ounds 
for  the  articles  in  the  shop  and  the 
good-will  and  all." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  it  is  moderate, 
but  how  an)  I  to  find  sixty  pounds  ?  " 

—  "I  '11  make  it  as  light  as  a  feather. 
Five  pounds  down.  Five  pounds  in 
a  month;  after  that,  ten  pounds  a 
month  till  we  are  clear.  Take  pos- 
session and  sell  the  goods  and  work 
the  good-will  on  payment  of  the  first 
five." 

"  That  is  A'ery  liberal,"  said  Robin- 
son. "  Well,  give  me  till  next  Thurs- 
day and  I  '11  bring  you  the  first  five." 

—  "  O,  I  can't  do  that ;  I  give  you  the 
first  offer,  but  into  the  market  it  goes 
this  evening,  and  no  later." 

"  I  '11  call  this  evening  and  see  if 
I  can  do  it."  Robinson  tried  to  make 
up  the  money,  but  it  was  not  to  be 
done.  Then  fell  a  terrible  temptation 
upon  him.  Handling  George  Field- 
ing's letter  with  his  delicate  finuers 
he  had  satisfied  himself  there  was  a 
bank-note  in  it.  Why  not  borrow 
this  bank-note  ?  The  shop  would 
soon  repay  it.  The  idea  rushed  over 
him  like  a  flood.  At  the  same  mo- 
n)cnt  he  took  fright  ai  it :  "Lord  help 
me  !  "  he  ejaenlaied. 

He  rushed  to  a  shop,  bought  two 
or  three  sheets  of  brown  paper,  and  a 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


265 


lot  of  wafers.  With  nimble  finr!:crs 
he  put  the  letter  in  one  parcel,  that 
parcel  in  another,  that  in  another,  and 
so  0!i  till  there  were  a  dozen  envel- 
opes between  him  and  tlie  irrei^ular 
loan.  This  done  he  confided  the 
ji-raud  parcel  to  his  landlord.  "  Give 
it  me  when  I  start." 

lie  went  no  more  near  the  little 
shop  till  he  had  made  seven  pounds  : 
then  he  went.  .  The  shop  and  busi- 
ness had  been  sold  just  twenty-four 
hours.  Robinson  groaned.  "  If  I 
had  not  been  so  very  honest !  Never 
mind.  I  must  take  the  bitter  with 
the  sweet." 

For  all  that  the  town  became  dis- 
tasteful to  him.  He  bought  a  cheap 
revolver,  —  for  there  was  a  talk  of 
bushrangers  in  the  neighborhood,  — 
anil  started  to  walk  to  George  Field- 
ing's farm.  He  reached  it  in  the 
evening.  "  There  is  no  George 
Fielding  here,"  was  the  news.  "  He 
left  this  more  than  six  months  ago." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  i  "  — 
"  Not  1." 

Robinson  had  to  ask  everybody  he 
met  where  George  Fielding  was  gone 
to.  At  last,  by  good  luck,  he  fell  in 
with  George's  friend,  M'Laughlan, 
who  told  him  it  was  twentv-five  miles 
otf.  —  "  Twenty-five  miles  1  that  must 
be  for  to-morrow,  then." 

M'Laiaghlan  told  him  he  knew 
Georiic  Fielding  very  well.  "  He  is  a 
fine  lad."  Then  he  asked  Robinson 
what  was  his  business.  Robinson 
took  down  a  very  thin  light  board 
with  ornamental  woods  painted  on  it. 
"  That  is  my  business,"  said  he. 

At  the  sight  of  a  real  business  the 
worthy  Scot  offered  to  take  care  of 
him  for  the  night,  and  put  him  on  the 
road  to  Fielding's  next  morning. 
Next  morning  Robinson  painted  his 
front  door  as  a  return  for  bed  and 
breakfast.  M'Laughlan  gave  him 
Fomewhat  intricate  instructions  for 
to-morrow's  route.  Robinson  followed 
them  and  soon  lost  his  way.  He  was 
set  right  again,  but  lost  it  again  ;  and 
after  a  tremendous  day's  walk  made 
up  his  mind  he  should  have  to  camp 
12 


in  the  open  air  and  without  his  sup- 
per, when  he  heard  a  dog  baying  in 
the  distance.  "  There  is  a  house  of 
some  kind  any  way,"  thought  Robin- 
son, "  but  where  ?  —  I  see  none  —  bet- 
ter make  (or  the  dog." 

He  made  straigtit  for  the  sound, 
but  still  he  could  not  see  any  house. 
At  last,  however,  coming  over  a  hill 
he  found  a  house  beneath  him,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  this  house  the  dog 
was  howling  incessantly.  Robinson 
came  down  the  hill,  walked  round  the 
house,  and  there  sat  tlie  dog  on  tlie 
steps.  "  Well,  it  is  you  for  howling 
any  way,"  said  Robinson.  "Any- 
body at  home  ?  "  he  shouted.  No  one 
answered  and  the  dog  howled  on. 
"  Why,  the  place  is  deserted,  I  think. 
Have  n't  I  seen  that  dog  before  ? " 
"  Why,  it  is  Carlo !  Here,  Carlo, 
poor  fellow,  Carlo,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter V 

The  dog  gave  a  little  whimper  as 
Robinson  stooped  and  patted  him, 
but  no  sign  of  positive  recognition; 
but  he  pattered  into  the  house.  Rob- 
inson followed  him,  and  there  he  found 
the  man  he  had  come  to  see, — stretched 
on  his  bed, — pale  and  hollow-eyed 
and  grisly,  —  and  looking  like  a  corpse 
in  the  fading  light. 

Robinson  was  awe-struck.  "  Oh  ! 
what  is  this  1  "  said  he.  "  Have  I 
eome  all  this  way  to  bury  him  ?  " 

He  leaned  over  him  and  felt  his 
heart ;  it  beat  feebly  but  equably,  and 
he  muttered  something  unintelligible 
when  Robinson  touched  him.  Then 
Robinson  struck  a  light,  and  right 
glad  he  was  to  find  a  caldron  full  of 
gelatinized  beef  soup.  He  warmed 
some  and  ate  a  great  supper,  and 
Carlo  sat  and  whimpered,  and  then 
wagged  his  tail  and  plucked  up  mors 
and  more  spirit,  and  finally  recognized 
Tom  all  in  a  moment  somehow,  and 
announced  the  fact  by  one  great 
disconnected  bark  and  a  saltatory 
motion.  This  done  he  turned  to 
and  also  ate  a  voracious  supper.  Rob- 
inson rolled  himself  up  in  George's 
great-coat  and  slept  like  a  top  on  the 
floor.    Next  morning  he  was  waked 


2GG 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


by  a  tapping?,  and  there  was  Carlo 
seated  bolt  uprijjlit,  with  his  tail  heat- 
iiiLT  the  floor,  hccaiisc  (n'()r<xo  was  sir- 
tiii}:-  lip  in  the  beil  lookiii;;^  about  him 
ill  a  puzzled  way.  "  Jacky,"  said  lie, 
"  is  that  you  ?  " 

Robinson  };ot  up,  rubbed  his  eyes, 
and  eamc  towards  the  lx)d.  Georf,''e 
stared  in  his  face  and  rubbed  liis  eyes 
too,  for  he  thou;;ht  he  must  b  •  under 
an  ocular  delusion.    "  Who  arc  you  ?  " 

—  "A  friend." 

"  Well !  I  did  n't  think  to  see  you 
under  a  roof  of  mine  ap^ain."  — "Just 
tlie  welcome  I  expected,"  thought 
Robinson,  bitterly.  He  answered  cold- 
ly :  "  Well,  as  soon  as  you  are  well 
yoa  can  turn  me  out  of  your  house, 
but  I  should  say  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  do  it  just  now." 

"  No,  I  am  weak  enoujrh,  but  I  am 
better;  I  could  eat  something."  — 
"  O,  you  could  do  that !  what !  even 
if  I  cooked  it.     Here  goes  then." 

Tom  lit  the  fire  and  warmed  some 
beef  soup.  George  ate  some,  but  very 
little;  however,  he  drank  a  great  jug- 
ful of  water,  then  dozed,  and  fell  into 
a  fine  perspiration.  It  was  a  favor- 
able crisis,  and  from  that  moment 
youth  and  a  sound  constitution  began 
to  pull  him  through  ;  moreover,  no 
assassin  had  been  there  with  his  lan- 
cet. 

Behold  the  thief  turned  nurse! 
The  next  day,  as  be  pottered  about, 
clearing  the  room,  opening  or  shut- 
ting the  windows,  cooking  and  serv- 
ing, lie  noticed  George's  eye  follow- 
ing him  everywhere  with  a  placid 
wonder,  which  at  last  broke  into 
w^oids  :  "  You  take  a  deal  of  trouble 
about  me." — "I  do,"  was  the  dry 
answer. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  but  —  " 

—  "  You  would  as  lieve  it  was  any- 
body else ;  but  your  other  friends 
have  left  you  to  die  like  a  dog,"  said 
Robinson,  sarcastically.  "  Well,  they 
left  you  when  you  were  sick,  —  I  '11 
leave  you  when  you  are  well."  — 
"  What  for?  Seems  to  me  that  you 
have  earned  a  right  to  stay  as  long 
as   you  are  minded*     The  man  that 


stands  by  me  in  trouble  I  won't  bid 
him  go  when  the  sun  shines  again." 

And  at  this  |)reci'e  point  in  his  sen- 
tence, without  the  lea-t  warning,  Mr. 
Fielding  ignited  himself, -^  and  in- 
quired with  fury  whether  it  came 
within  Robinson's  individual  experi- 
ence that  George  Fielding  was  of  an 
ungrateful  turn,  or  whether  such  was 
the  general  voice  of  fiime.  "  Now 
don't  you  get  in  a  rage  and  burst 
your  boiler,"  said  Robinson.  "  Well, 
George,  —  without  joking,  though,  — 
I  have  been  kind  to  you  :  not  for 
nursing  you,  —  what  Christian  would 
not  do  that  for  his  countryman  ami 
his  old  landlord  sick  in  a  desert  ?  — 
but  what  wpuld  you  think  of  me  if  I 
told  you  I  had  come  a  hundred  and 
sixty  miles  to  bring  you  a  letter }  I 
would  n't  show  it  you  before,  for  they 
say  exciting  them  is  bad  for  fever,  but 
I  think  I  may  venture  now  ;  here  it 
is."  And  Robinson  tore  off,  one  by 
one,  the  twelve  envelopes,  to  George's 
astonishment  and  curiosity.   "There." 

"I  don't  know  the  hand,"  said 
George.  But,  opening  the  enclosure, 
he  caught  a  glance  of  a  hand  he  did 
know,  and  let  everything  else  drop  on 
the  bed,  while  he  held  this  and  gazed 
at  it,  and  the  color  flushed  into  his 
white  cheek.  "  Oh  !  "  cried  he,  and 
worshipped  it  in  silence  again  :  then 
opened  it  and  devoured  it.  First 
came  some  precious  words  of  affection 
and  encouragement.  He  kissed  the 
letrer.  "  You  are  a  good  fellow  to 
bring  me  such  a  treasure  ;  and  I  '11 
never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live  !  " 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  letter. 
"There  is  something  about  you, 
Tom!"  — "About  me?" 

"  She  tells  me  you  never  had  a 
father,  not  to  say  a  father — "  — 
"  She  says  true." 

"  Susan  says  that  is  a  great  disad- 
vantage to  any  man,  and  so  it  is, 
and  —  poor  fellow  —  "  —  "  What  ?  " 

"  She  says  they  came  between  your 
sweetheart  and  you  —  O  poor  Tom  !  " 
—  "  What  ?  " 

"  You  lost  your  sweetheart ;  no 
wonder  you  went  astray  after   that. 


«IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


2G7 


What  would  become  of  me  if  I  lost 
my  Susan  ?  And  —  ay,  you  were 
always  better  tlian  me,  Susan.  She 
says  she  and  I  have  never  been  sore 
tempted  like  you."  —  "Bless  her  little 
heart  for  making  excuses  for  a  poor 
fellow ;  but  she  was  always  a  charita- 
ble, kind-hearted  voung  lady." 

"  Was  n't  she,'  Tom  1 "  —  "  And 
what  sweet  eyes  !  " 

"  Ain't  they,  Tom  ?  brimful  of 
heaven,  I  call  them.  "  —  "  And  when 
she  used  to  smile  on  you,  Master 
George,  0  the  ivories  !  " 

"  Now  you  take  my  hand  this  min- 
ute.    How  foolish  I  am  !  I  can't  see, 

—  now  you  shall  read  it  on  to  me  be- 
cause you  brought  it."  —  "  '  And  you, 
George,  that  are  as  honest  a  man 
as  ever  lived,  do  keep  hjm  by  you 
awhile,  and  keep  him  in  the  right 
way.     He  is  well  disposed,  but  weak, 

—  do  it  to  oblige  me. '  " 

"  Will  you  stay  with  me,  Tom  ?  " 
inquired  George,  cheerful  and  busi- 
ness-like. "I  am  not  a  lucky  man, 
but  while  I  have  a  shilling  there 's  six- 
pence for  the  man  that  brought  me 
this  —  dew  in  the  desert,  I  call  it. 
And  to  think  you  have  seen  her  since 
I  have  ;  how  was  she  looking  ?  had 
she  her  beautiful  color  ?  what  did  she 
say  to  you  with  her  own  mouth  ?  " 

Then  Robinson  had  to  recall  every 
word  Susan  had  said  to  him ;  this 
done,  George  took  the  enclosure. 
"  Stop,  here  is  something  for  you. 
'  George  Fielding  is  requested  to  give 
this  to  Robinson  for  the  use  of 
Thomas  Sinclair.'  There  you  are, 
Tom,  —  well !  —  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  —  "  Nothing.  It  is  a  name  I 
have  not  heard  awhile.  I  did  not 
know  any  creature  but  me  kne\^J  it ; 
is  it  glamour,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  Tom  !  what  is  the  matter  ? 
don't  look  like  that.  Open  it,  and 
let  us  see  what  there  is  inside." 

Robinson  opened  it,  and  there  was 
the  five-pound  note  for  him,  with  this 
line  :  "  If  you  have  regained  the  name 
of  Sinclair,  keep  it." 

Robinson  ran  out  of  the  house, 
and  walked  to  and  fro  in  a  state  of 


exaltation.  "I'm  well  paid  for  my 
journey  ;  I  'm  well  paid  for  not  lin- 
gering that  note  !  Who  would  not 
be  honest  if  they  knew  the  sweets  ? 
How  could  he  know  my  name  ? 
is  he  really  more  than  man  1  Keep 
it  1     Will  I  not !  " 


CHAPTER  LII. 

The  old  attachment  was  revived. 
Robinson  had  always  a  great  regard 
for  George,  and  after  nursing  and 
bringing  him  through  a  dangerous 
illness  this  feeling  doubled.  And  as 
for  George,  the  man  who  had  brought 
him  a  letter  from  Susan  one  hundred 
and  sixty  miles  became  such  a  bene- 
factor in  his  eyes  that  he  thought 
nothing  good  enough  for  him. 

In  a  very  few  days  George  was 
about  again  and  on  his  pony,  and  he 
and  Robinson  and  Carlo  went  a  shep- 
herding. One  or  two  bullocks  had 
gone  to  Jericho  while  George  lay  ill, 
and  the  poor  fellow's  heart  was  sore 
when  he  looked  at  his  diminished 
substance  and  lost  time.  Robinson 
threw  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
business,  and  was  of  great  service  to 
George  ;  but  after  a  bit  he  found  it  a 
dull  life. 

George  saw  this,  and  said  to  him  : 
"  You  would  do  better  in  a  town.  I 
should  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  but  if  you 
take  my  advice  you  will  turn  your 
back  on  unlucky  George,  and  try  the 
paint-brush  in  Bathurst."  For  Rob- 
inson had  told  him  all  about  it,  —  and 
painted  his  front  door.  "  Can't  af- 
ford to  part  from  Honesty,"  was  the 
firm  reply. 

George  breathed  again.  Robinson 
was  a  great  comfort  to  the  weak,  soli- 
tary, and  now  desponding  man.  One 
day  for  a  change  they  had  a  thirty- 
mile  walk,  to  see  a  farmer  that  had 
some  beasts  to  sell  a  great  bargain  ; 
he  was  going  to  boil  them  down  if  he 
could  not  find  a  customer.  They 
found  them  all  just  sold.  "  Just  mi- 
luck/'  said  George. 


268 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


They  came  home  another  way. 
Returuinp;  home,  Georjjje  was  silent 
ami  dcprt'ssed.  Robinson  was  silent, 
but  appeared  to  be  swellinj^  with  some 
grand  idea.  Every  now  and  then  .he 
shot  ahead  under  its  iniluunee.  When 
they  got  home  and  were  seated  at 
supper,  he  suddenly  put  this  question 
to  George :  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
any  gold  being  found  ia  these  parts  ?  " 

—  "  No  !  never  !  " 

"  What,  not  in  any  part  of  the 
country  1  "  —  "  No  !  never  !  " 

"Well,  that  is  odd!"— "I  am 
afraid  it  is  a  very  bad  country  for  that." 

"Ay,  to  make  it  in,  but  not  to  find 
it  in."  —  "What  do  you  mean?"  — 
"  George,"  said  the  other,  lowering  his 
voice  mysteriously,  "  in  our  walk  to- 
day we  passed  places  that  brought  my 
heart  into  my  mouth ;  for,  if  this  was 
only  California,  those  places  would  be 
pockets  of  gold." 

"But  you  see  it  is -not  California, 
but  Australia,  where  all  the  world 
knows  there  is  nothing  of  what  your 
mind  is  running  on."  —  "  Don't  say 
*  knows,'  say  *  thinks.'  Has  it  ever 
been  searched  for  gold ? "  —  ''I  '11  be 
bound  it  has  :  or,  if  not,  with  so  many 
eyes  constantly  looking  on  every  foot 
of  soil  a  specie  or  two  would  have 
come  to  light." 

"  One  would  think  so :  but  it  is 
astonishing  how  blind  folks  are,  till 
they  are  taught  how  to  look,  .and 
where  to  look.  'T  is  the  mind  that 
sees  things,  George,  not  the  eye." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  George,  with  a  sigh, 
"this  chat  puts  me  in  mind  of  'The 
Grove.'  Do  you  mind  how  you  used 
to  pester  everybody  to  go  out  to  Cal- 
ifornia ?  " —  "Yes!  and  I  wish  we 
were  there  now." 

"  And  all  your  talk  used  to  be  gold 

—  gold  —  gold."  —  "  As   well   say  it 
as  think  it." 

"  That  is  true.  Well,  we  shall  be 
very  busy  all  day  to-morrow,  but  in 
the  afternoon  dig  for  gold  an  hour  or 
two,  —  then  you  will  be  satisfied."  — 
"  But  it  is  no  use  digging  here ;  it 
was  full  five-and-twenty  miles  from 
here  the  likely-looking  place." 


"  Then  why  did  n't  you  stop  me  at 
the  place  ?  "  —  "  Why  ?  "  replied  Rob- 
inson, sourly,  "  because  his  reverence 
did  so  snub  me  whenever  I  got  upon 
that  favorite  to}(ic,  that  I  really  had 
got  out  of  theliabit.  I  was  ashamed 
to  say,  '  George,  let  us  stop  on  the 
road  and  try  for  gold  with  our  finger- 
nails.' I  knew  I  should  only  get 
laughed  at." 

"  Well,"  said  George,  sarcastically, 
"  since  the  gold  mine  is  twenty-five 
miles  off,  and  our  work  is  round  about 
the  door,  suppose  we  pen  sheep  to- 
morrow, —  and  dig  for  gold  when  there 
is  nothing  better  to  be  done." 

Robinson  sighed.  Unl)ucolical  to 
the  last  degree  was  the  spirit  in  which 
our  Bohemian  tended  the  flocks  next 
morning.  Ilis  thoughts  were  deeper 
than  the  soil.  And  every  evening  up 
came  the  old  topic.  Oh!  how  sick 
Gcorgcigot  of  it.  At  last  one  night 
he  said  :  "  My  lad,  I  should  like  to 
tell  you  a  story,  but  I  suppose  I 
shall  make  a  bungle  of  it ;  sha'  n't 
cut  the  furrow  clean  I  am  doubtful." 
—  "  Never  mind  ;   try  !  " 

"  Well,  then.  Once  upon  a  time 
there  was  an  old  chap  that  had  heard 
or  read  about  treasures  being  found  in 
odd  places,  a  pot  full  of  guineas  or 
something:  and  it  took  root  in  his 
heart,  till  nothing  would  serve  him 
but  he  must  find  a  pot  of  guineas  too  ; 
he  used  to  poke  about  all  the  old  ruins 
grubbing  away,  and  would  have  tuken 
up  the  floor  of  the  church,  —  but  the 
churchwardens  would  not  have  it. 
One  morning  he  comes  down  and  says 
to  his  wife,  '  It  is  all  right,  ohl  woman, 
I  've  found  the  treasure.'  —  '  No  ! 
have  you  though  ? '  says  she.  '  Yes ! ' 
says  he,  *  leastways,  it  is  as  good  as 
found  ;  it  is  only  waiting  till  I  've  had 
my  breakfast,  and  then  I  '11  go  out 
and  fetch  it  in.'  —  *  La,  John,  but  how 
did  you  find  it  ? '  —  *  It  was  revealed 
to  me  in  a  dream,'  says  he,  as  grave 
as  a  judge. — '  And'  where  is  it?' 
asks  the  old  woman.  — '  Under  a  tree 
in  our  own  orchard,  —  no  further,' 
says  he.  —  '  O  John  !  how  long 
you  are  at  breakfast   to-day ! '    Up 


«IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.* 


they  both  jrot  and  into  the  orchard. 
*  Now,  which  tree  is  it  under  ? ' 
Jolni,  he  scratches  his  head,  '  Blest  if 
I  know.'  — '  Why,  you  old  ninny/ 
says  the  mistress,  *  did  n't  you  take 
tlie  trouble  to  notice?  '  — '  That  I  did/ 
said  he ;  'I  saw  plain  enough  whicli 
tree  it  was  in  my  dream,  but  now 
they  muddle  it  all,  there  are  so  many 
of  "'em.'  —  'Drat  your  stupid  old 
head,'  says  she,  '  why  did  n't  you 
put  a  nick  on  the  right,  one  at  the 
time  ? ' " 

Robinson  burst  out  laughing. 
George  chuckled.  "  Oh  !  "  said  he  : 
"  there  were  a  pair  of  them  for  wis- 
dom, you  may  take  your  oath  of  that. 
'Well,'  says  he,  'I  must  dig  till  I 
find  the  right  one.'  The  Avife,  she 
loses  heart  at  this  ;  for  there  was 
eighty  apple-trees,  and  a  score  of 
cherry-trees,  '  Mind  you  don't  cut 
the  roots,'  says  she,  and  she  heaves  a 
sigh.  John,  he  gives  them  bad  lan- 
guage root  and  branch.  '  What  sig- 
nifies cut  or  not  cut?  the  old  fagots, 
—  they  don't  bear  me  a  bushel  of  fruit 
the  whole  lot.  They  used  to  bear 
two  sacks  apiece  in  father's  time. 
Drat  'era.'  — '  AVell,  John,'  says  the 
old  woman,  smoothing  him  down  ; 
'father  used  to  give  them  a  deal  of 
attention.'  —  '  'T  ain't  that  !  't  ain't 
that ! '  says  he,  quick  and  spiteful-like ; 
'they  have  got  old,  like  ourselves, 
and  good  for  fire-wood.'  Out  pick- 
axe and  spade,  and  digs  three  foot 
deep  round  one,  and,  finding  nothing 
but  mould,  goes  at  another,  makes  a 
little  mound  all  round  him  too,  —  no 
guinea-pot.  Well,  the  village  let  him 
dig  three  or  four  quiet  enough;  but 
after  that  curiosity  was  awakened, 
and  while  John  was  digging,  and  that 
was  all  day,  there  was  mostly  seven 
or  eight  watching  through  the  fence 
and  pa'^sing  their  jests.  After  a  bit  a 
fashion  came  up  of  flinging  a  stone  or 
two  at  John  ;  then  John,  he  brought 
out  his  gun  loaded  with  dust-shot 
along  with  his  pick  and  spade,  and 
the  first  stone  came  he  fired  sharp  in 
that  direction  and  then  loaded  again. 
SSo  they  took  that  hint,  and  John  dug 


on  in  peace,  —  till  about  the  fourth 
Sunday,  — and  then  the  parson  had  a 
slap  at  him  in  church.  '  Folks  were 
not  to  heap  up  to  themselves  treasures 
on  earth,'  was  all  his  discourse." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Robinson,  "  this 
one  was  only  heaping  up  mould."  — 
"  So  it  seemed  when  he  had  dug  the 
fivescore  holes,  for  no  pot  of  gold 
did  n't  come  to  light.  Then  the 
neighbors  called  the  orchard  '  Jacobs's 
Folly ' ;  his  name  was  Jacobs,  — John 
Jacobs.  '  Now  then,  wife,'  says  he, 
•'  suppose  you  and  I  look  out  for 
another  village  to  live  in,  for  their 
gibes  are  more  than  I  can  bear.'  Old 
woman  begins  to  cry.  '  Been  hero 
so  long — brought  me  home  here,  Jolin, 

—  when  we  were  first  married,  John, 

—  and  I  was  a  comely  lass,  and  you 
the  smartest  young  man  I  ever  saw, 
to  my  foncy,  any  way ;  could  n't  sleep 
or  eat  my  victuals  in  any  house  but 
this.'  —  '  Oh  !  could  n't  ye  ?  Well, 
then,  we  must  stay  ;  perhaps  it  will 
blow  over.'  — '  Like  everything  else, 
John ;  but,  dear  John,  do  ye  fill  in 
those  holes;  the  young  folk  come  far 
and  wide  on    Sundays  to  soe  them.' 

—  'Wife,  I  haven't  the  heart,'  says 
he.  '  You  see,  when  I  was  digging 
for  the  treasure  I  was  always  a  going 
to  find,  it  kept  my  heart  up  ;  but  take 
out  shovel  and  fill  them  in,  —  I  'd  as 
lieve  dine  off"  white  of  egg  on  a  Sun- 
day.' So  for  six  blessed  months  the 
heaps  were  out  in  the  heat  and  frost, 
till  the  end  of  February,  and  then 
when  the  weather  broke  the  old  man 
takes  heart  and  fills  them  in,  and  the 
village  soon  forgot  '  Jacobs's  Folly  ' 
because  it  was  out  of  sight.  Comes 
April,  and  out  burst  the  trees.  *  Wife,' 
says  he,  'our  bloom  is  richer  than  I 
have  known  it  this  many  a  year,  it  is 
richer  than  our  neighbors'.'  Bloom 
dies,  and  then  out  come  about  a  mil- 
lion  little  green  things  quite  hard." 

"  Ay  !  ay  !  "  said  Robinson  ;  "  I 
see." 

"  Michaelmas  day  tlie  old  trees  were 
staggering,  and  the  branches  down  to 
the  ground  with  the  crop ;  thirty 
shillings  on  every  tree  one  with  an- 


270 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


other;  and  so  on  for  the  next  year, 
and  the  next ;  sometimes  moiv,  some- 
times less,  aceor(lin<;  to  the  year. 
Trees  were  old  and  wanted  a  change. 
His  lettino;  in  the  air  to  them,  and 
tnrning  the  subsoil  up  to  the  frost  and 
sun,  had  renewed  their  youth.  So  by 
that  he  learned  that  tillage  is  the  way 
to  get  treasure  from  the  earth.  Men 
are  ungrateful  at  times,  but  the  soil  is 
never  ungrateful,  it  always  makes  a 
return  for  the  pains  we  give  It." 

"  Well,  George,"  said  Robinson, 
"  thank  you  for  your  story ;  it  is  a 
very  good  one,  and  after  it  I  '11  never 
dig  for  gold  in  a  garden.  But  now 
suppose  a  bare  rock  or  an  old  river's 
bed,  or  a  mass  of  shingles  or  pipe-clay, 
would  you  dig  or  manure  them  for 
crops  V  —  "  Why,  of  course  not." 

"  Well  those  are  the  sort  of  places 
in  which  nature  has  planted  a  yellow- 
er crop  and  a  richer  crop  than  tillage 
ever  produced.  And  I  believe  there 
are  plumbs  of  gold  not  thirty  miles 
from  here  in  such  spots  waiting  only  to 
be  dug  out."  —  "Well,  Tom,  I  have 
wasted  a  parable,  that  is  all.  Good 
night.  I  hope  to  sleep  and  be  ready 
for  a  good  day's  work  to-morrow. 
You  shall  dream  of  digging  up  gold 
here,  —  if  you  like." 

"  I  '11  never  speak  of  it  again,"  said 
Robinson,  doggedly. 

If  you  want  to  make  a  man  a  bad 
companion,  interdict  altogether  the 
topic  that  happens  to  interest  him. 
Robinson  ceased  to  vent  his  chimera. 
So  it  swelled  and  swelled  in  his  heart, 
and  he  became  silent,  absorbed,  absent, 
and  out  of  spirits.  "  Ah !  "  thought 
George,  "  poor  fellow,  he  is  very  dull. 
He  won't  stay  beside  me  much  long- 
ed." 

This  conviction  was  so  strong  that 
he  hesitated  to  close  with  an  advanta- 
geous offer  that  came  to  him  from  his 
friend,  Mr.  Winchester.  That  gentle- 
man had  taken  a  lease  of  a  tine  run 
some  thirty  miles  from  George.  He 
had  Mritten  George  that  lie  was  to  go 
and  look  at  it,  and  if  he  liked  it  bet- 
ter than  his  own  he  was  to  take  it. 
Mr.  Winchester  could  make  no  con- 


siderable use  of  either  for  some  time 
to  come. 

George  hesitated.  He  felt  himself 
so  weak-handed  with  only  Robinson, 
who  might  leave  him,  and  a  shepherd 
lad  he  had  just  hired.  However,  his 
hands  were  unexpectedly  strength- 
ened. 

One  day  as  the  two  friends  were 
washing  a  sheep  an  armed  savage 
suddenly  stood  before  them.  Robin- 
son dropped  the  sheep  and  stood  on 
his  defence,  but  George  cried  out : 
"  No  !  no  !  it  is  Jacky !  Why,  Jacky, 
where  on  earth  have  you  been  ? " 
And  he  came  warmly  towards  him. 
Jacky  fled  to  a  small  eminence  and 
made  warlike  preparations.  "  You 
stop  you  a  good  while  and  I  speak. 
Who  you  ?  "  —  "  Who  am  I  ?  stupid. 
Whv,  who  should  I  be  but  George 
Fielding  ?  " 

"I  see  you  one  George  Fielding, 
but  I  not  know  you  dis  George  Field- 
ing. George  die.  I  see  him  die. 
You  alive.  You  please  you  call  dog 
Carlo  ?  Carlo  wise  dog."  —  "  Well, 
I  never !     Hie,  Carlo  !  Carlo  !  " 

Up  came  Carlo  full  pelt.  George 
patted  him,  and  Carlo  wagged  his 
tail  and  pranced  about  in  the  shape 
of  a  reaping-hook.  Jacky  came  in- 
stantly down,  showed  his  ivories,  and 
admitted  his  friend's  existence  on  the 
word  of  the  dog.  "  Jacky  a  good 
deal  glad  because  you  not  dead  now. 
When  black  fellow  die  he  never  live 
any  more.  Black  fellow,  stupid  fel- 
low. I  tink  I  like  white  fellow  a 
good  deal  bigger  than  black  fellow. 
Now  I  stay  with  you  a  good  while." 

George's  hands  thus  strengthened, 
he  wrote  and  told  Mr.  Winchester 
he  would  go  to  the  new  ground, 
which,  as  far  as  he  could  remember, 
was  very  good,  and  would  inspect  it, 
and  probably  make  tlic  excliango 
with  thanks.  It  was  arranged  that 
in  two  days'  time  the  three  friends 
should  go  together,  inspect  the  new 
ground,  and  build  a  temporary  hut 
there. 

Meantime  Robinson  and  Jacky 
made  great  friends.  Robinson  showed 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


271 


him  one  or  two  sleight-of-hand  tricks 
that  stamped  him  at  once  a  superior 
beiii2:  in  Jacky's  eyes,  and  Jacky 
sliowed  Robinson  a  thing  or  two.  He 
threw  his  boomerang  and  made  it 
travel  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  and 
return  and  hover  over  his  head  like  a 
bird  and  settle  at  his  feet ;  but  he  was 
shy  of  throwing  his  spear.  "  Keep 
spear  for  when  um  angry,  not  throw 
him  straight  now." 

"  Don't  you.  believe  that,  Tom," 
said  George.  "  Fact  is  the  little  var- 
mint can't  hit  anything  with  'em. 
Now  look  at  that  piece  of  bark  lean- 
ing against  that  tree.  You  don't  hit 
it.  Come,  try,  Jacky."  Jacky 
yawned  and  threw  a  spear  carelessly.- 
It  went  close  by,  but  did  not  hit  it. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so  ?  "  said 
George.  "I'd  stand  before  him  and 
his  spears  all  day  with  nothing  but  a 
cricket-stump  in  my  hand,  and  nev- 
er be  hit,  and  never  brag  neither." 
Jacky  showed  his  ivories.  "  When  I 
down  at  Svdney  white  man  put  up  a 
little  wood  and  a  bit  of  white  money 
for  Jacky.  Then  Jacky  throw  straight 
a  good  deal." 

"  Now  hark  to  that !  black  skin  or 
white  skin  'tis  all  the  same :  we  can't 
do  our  best  till  we  are  paid  for  it. 
Don't  you  encourage  him,  Tom,  I 
won't  have  it." 

The  two  started  early  one  fine 
morning  for  the  new  ground  distant 
full  thirty  miles.  At  first  starting 
Robinson  was  in  high  glee ;  his  na- 
ture delighted  in  change  ;  but  George 
was  sad  and  silent.  Three  times  he 
had  changed  his  ground  and  always 
for  the  better.  But  to  what  end  ? 
These  starts  in  early  morning  for 
fresh  places  used  once  to  make  him 
buoyant,  but  not  now.  All  that  was 
over.  He  persisted  doggedly,  and  did 
his  best  like  a  man,  hut  in  his  secret 
heart  not  one  grain  of  hope  was  left. 
Indeed,  it  was  but  the  other  daj-  he 
h  id  written  to  Susnn  and  told  ht-r  it 
was  nor  }x)ssiblc  he  could  make  a 
thousand  pounds.  The  difficulties 
were  too  many,  and  then  his  losses 
had  been  too  great.     And  he  told  her 


he  felt  it  was  scarcely  fair  to  keep  her 
to  her  promise.  "  You  would  waste 
all  your  youth,  Susan,  dear,  waiting 
for  me."  And  he  told  her  how  he 
loved  her  and  never  should  love 
another,  but  left  her  free. 

To  add  to  his  troubles  he  was 
scarcely  well  of  the  fever  when  he 
caught  a  touch  of  rheumatism.  And 
the  stalwart  young  fellow  limped 
along  by  Robinson's  side,  and,  in- 
stead of  his  distancing  Jacky  as  he 
used  in  better  days,  Jacky  rattled  on 
ahead,  and,  having  got  on  the  trail 
of  an  opossum,  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  hunting  it  down  and  then 
following  the  human  trail.  "  Me 
catch  you  before  the  sun  go,  and 
bring  opossum,  —  then  we  eat  a  good 
deal."  And  oif  glided  Jacky  after 
his  opossum. 

The  pair  plodded  and  limped  on 
in  gloomy  silence,  for  at  a  part  of 
the  road  where  they  emerged  from 
green  meadows  on  rocks  and  broken 
ground  Robinson's  tongue  had  sud- 
denly ceased. 

They  plodded  on,  one  sad  and 
stiff,  the  other  thoughtful.  Any  one 
meeting  the  pair  would  have  pitied 
them.  Ill  success  was  stamped  on 
them.  Their  features  were  so  good, 
their  fortunes  so  unkind.  Their 
clothes  were  sadly  worn,  their  beards 
neglected,  their  looks  thoughtful  and 
sad.  Tlie  convert  to  honesty  stole 
more  than  one  look  at  the  noble  fig- 
ure that  limped  beside  him,  and  the 
handsome  face  in  which  gentle,  un- 
complaining sorrow  seemed  to  be  a 
tenant  for  life.  And  to  the  credit  of 
our  nature  be  it  said  that  his  eyes 
filled  and  his  heart  yearned.  "  O 
Honesty  !  "  said  he,  "you  are  ill  paid 
here.  I  have  been  well  paid  for  my 
little  bit  of  you,  but  here  is  a  life  of 
honesty  and  a  life  of  ili-luck  and 
bitter  disappointment.  Poor  George  ! 
poor  dear  George  !  Leave  you  ? 
never  while  I  have  hands  to  work  and 
a  brain  to  devise." 

I^hey  now  began  slowly  to  mount 
a  gentle  slope  that  ended  in  a  long 
black,  snake-like  hill.    "  When  we  get 


272 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  ]\IEND." 


to  that  hill  we  shall  see  my  new  pas- 
ture," said  Geor<;e.  "  New  or  old,  I 
doubt  't  will  he  all  the  same."  And 
he  si<;hed  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

Meantime  Jatky  had  killed  his 
opossum  and  was  now  following  their 
trail  at  an  easy  trot. 

I^eavinj;  the  two  sad  ones  with  worn 
clothes  and  heavy  hearts  plodding 
slowly  and  stiffly  up  the  long  rough 
sl<)i)e,  o!ir  story  runs  on  before  and 
gains  the  rocky  platform  they  are 
making  for  an(l  looks  both  ways,  — 
back  towards  the  sad  ones  and  for- 
ward over  a  grand  long  sweeping  val- 
ley. This  pasture  is  rich  in  propor- 
tion as  it  recedes  from  this  huge  back- 
bone of  rock  that  comes  from  tlie  stony 
mountains  and  pierces  and  divides  the 
meadows  as  a  cape  the  sea.  In  the 
foreground  the  grass  suffers  from  its 
stern  neighbor,  is  cut  up  here  and 
there  by  the  channels  of  defunct  tor- 
rents, and  dotted  with  fragments  of 
rock,  some  of  Avhich  seem  to  have 
pierced  the  bosom  of  the  soil  from  be- 
low, others  have  been  detached  at 
different  epochs  from  the  parent  rock 
and  rolled  into  the  valley ;  but  these 
wounds  are  only  discovered  on  inspec- 
tion ;  at  a  general  glance  from  the 
rocky  road  into  the  dale  the  prospect  is 
large,  rich,  and  laughing ;  fairer  pas- 
tures are  to  be  found  in  that  favored 
land,  but  this  sparkles  at  you  like  an 
emerald  roughly  set,  and  where  the 
backbone  of  rock  gives  a  sudden  twist 
bursts  out  all  at  once  broad  smiling  in 
your  face,  —  a  land  flowing  with  milk, 
and  every  bush  a  thousand  nosegays. 

At  the  angle  above  mentioned, 
which  commanded  a  double  view,  a 
man  was  standing  watching  some  ob- 
ject oroltjects  not  visible  to  his  tliree 
companions  ;  they  were  working  some 
yards  lower  down  by  the  .-ide  of  a  riv- 
ulet that  brawled  and  bounded  down 
the  hill.  Every  now  and  then  an  in- 
quiry was  shouted  up  to  that  individ- 
ual, who  was  evidently  a  sort  of  scout 
or  sentinel.  At  last  one  of  the  men  in 
the  ravine  came  up  and  bade  the  s<jput 
go  down. 

•'  I  '11  soon  tell    you  whether  we 


shall  have  to  knock  off  work."  And 
he  turned  the  corner  and  disappr  and. 

He  shaded  both  his  eyes  wiih  his 
hands,  for  the  sun  was  glaring. 
About  a  mile  off  he  saw  two  men  com- 
ing slowly  up  by  a  zigzag  path  to- 
wards the  very  ])oint  where  he  stood. 
Presently  the  men  stopped  ami  exam- 
ined the  prospect,  eacli  in  his  own 
way.  The  taller  one  took  a  wide 
survey  of  the  low  ground,  and  calling 
his  companion  to  him  a])pcared  to 
point  out  to  him  some  beauty  or  pe- 
culiarity of  the  region.  Our  scout 
stopped'  back  and  called  down  to  his 
companions,  "  Shepherds  !  " 

He  then  strolled  back  to  his  post 
with  no  particular  anxiety.  Arrived 
there,  his  uneasiness  seemed  to  revive. 
The  shorter  of  the  two  strangers 
had  lagged  behind  his  comrade,  and 
,the  watcher  observed  that  he  was  car- 
rying on  a  close  and  earnest  inspection 
of  the  ground  in  detail.  He  peered 
into  the  hollows  and  loitered  in  every 
ravine.  This  gave  singular  offence  to 
the  keen  eye  that  was  now  upon  him. 
Presently  he  was  seen  to  stop  and  call 
his  taller  companion  to  him,  and 
point  with  great  earnestness,  first  to 
something  at  their  feet,  tJien  to  the 
backbone  of  rocks;  and  it  so  hap- 
pened by  mere  accident  that  his  finger 
took  nearly  the  direction  of  the  very 
spot  where  the  observer  of  all  his 
movements  stood.  The  man  started 
back  out  of  sight,  and  called  in  a  low 
voice  to  his  comrades,  "  Come  here." 

They  came  straggling  up  with 
troubled  and  lowering  faces.  "  Lie 
down  and  watch  them,"  said  the  lead- 
er. The  men  stooped  and  crawled 
forward  to  some  stunted  bushes,  be- 
hind which  they  lay  down  and  watched 
in  silence  the  unconscious  j)air  who 
were  now  about  two  furlongs  distant. 
The  sliorter  of  the  two  still  loitered 
behind  his  companion,  and  inspected 
the  ground  with  ]).articular  interest. 
The  leader  of  the  band,  who  went  by 
the  name  of  Black  Will,  muttered  a 
curse  upon  his  in(jui>.itivcnes-;.  The 
others  assented  all  hut  one,  a  huge 
fellow  whom  the  others  addressed  as 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


273 


Jem.  "Nonsense,"  said  Jem,  "dozens 
pass  this  wav  and  are  none  the  wiser." 
—  "Ay,"  replied  Bhick  Will,  "  with 
their  noses  in  the  air.  But  that  is  a 
notice-takinLT  fellow.  Look  at  him 
with  his  eyes  forever  on  the  rocks,  or 
in  the  gullies,  or  —  There,  if  he  is  not 
picking  up  a  stone  and  breaking  it !  " 

"  Ha  !  lia  !  "  laughed  Jem,  incred- 
ulously, "  how  many  thousand  have 
picked  up  stones  and  broke  them  and 
all,  and  never  known  what  we  know." 
— "  He  has  been  in  the  same  oven 
as  we,"  retorted  the  other.     - 

Here  one  of  the  others  put  in  his 
word.  "  That  is  not  likely,  captain  ; 
but,  if  it  is  so,  there  are  no  two  ways. 
A  secret  is  no  secret  if  all  the  world  is 
to  know  it." 

"  You  remember  our  oath,  Jem," 
said  the  leader,  sternly.  —  "  Why 
should  I  forget  it  more  than  an- 
other ?  "  replied  the  other,  angrily. 

"  Have  you  all  your  knives  ? " 
asked  the  captain,  gloomily.  The  men 
nodded  assent.  "  Cross  them  with 
me  as  we  did  when  we  took  our  oath 
first." 

The  men  stretched  out  each  a 
brawny  arm,  and  a  long  sharp  knife, 
so  that  all  the  points  came  together  in 
a  focus  ;  and  this  action  suited  well 
with  their  fierce  and  animal  features, 
their  long,  neglected  beards,  their 
matted  hair,  and  their  gleaming  eyes. 
It  looked  the  prologue  to  some  deed 
of  blood.  Tliis  done,  at  another  word 
from  their  ruffianly  leader  they 
turned  away  from  the  angle  in  the 
rock  and  plunged  hastily  down  the 
ravine;  but  they  had  scarcely  taken 
thirty  steps  when  they  suddenly  dis- 
appeared. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  small 
stream  I  have  mentioned  was  a 
cavern  of  irregular  shape  that  served 
these  men  for  a  habitation  and  place 
of  concealment.  Nature  had  not  done 
all.  The  stone  was  soft,  and  the 
natural  cavity  had  been  enlarged  and 
made  a  comfortable  retreat  enough 
for  tlie  hardy  men  whose  home  it  was. 
A  few  feet  from  the  mouth  of  the 
cave  on  one  side  grew  a  stout  bush 
12* 


that  added  to  the  shelter  and  the 
concealment,  and  on  the  other  the  men 
themselves  had  placed  two  or  three 
huge  stones,  which,  from  the  attitude 
the  rogues  had  given  them,  ap- 
peared, like  many  others,  to  have 
rolled  thither  years  ago  from  the  rock 
above. 

In  this  retreat  the  whole  band  were 
now  silently  couched,  two  of  them 
in  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  Black  Will 
and  another  lying  flat  on  their  stom- 
achs watching  the  angle  of  the  road 
for  the  two  men  who  must  pass  that 
way,  and  listening  for  every  sound. 
Black  Will  was  carefully  and  quietly 
sharpening  his  knife  on  one  of  the 
stones,  and  casting  back  every  now 
and  then  a  meaning  glance  to  his 
companions.  The  pertinacity  with 
which  he  held  to  his  idea  began  to  tell 
on  them,  and  they  sat  in  an  attitude 
of  sullen  and  terrible  suspicion.  But 
Jem  wore  a  look  of  contemptuous  in- 
credulity. However  small  a  society 
may  be,  if  it  is  a  human  one,  jealousy 
shall  creep  in.  Jem  grudged  Black 
Will  his  captaincy.  Jem  was  intel- 
lectually a  bit  of  a  brute  :  he  was  a 
stronger  man  than  Will,  and  therefore 
thought  it  hard,  that,  merely  because 
Will  was  a  keener  spirit,  Will  should 
be  over  him.  Half  an  hour  passed 
thus,  and  the  two  travellers  did  not 
make  their  appearance. 

"  Not  even  coming  this  way  at  all," 
said  Jem.  —  "Hush!"  replied  Will, 
sternly,  "  hold  your  tongue.  They 
must  come  this  way,  and  they  can't 
be  far  off.  Jem,  you  can  crawl  out 
and  see  where  they  are,  if  you  are 
clever  enough  to  keep  that  great  body 
out  of  sight." 

Jem  resented  this  doubt  cast  upon 
his  adroitness,  and  crawled  out  among 
the  bushes.  He  had  scarcely  got 
twenty  yards  Avhen  he  halted  and 
made  a  signal  that  the  men  were  in 
sight.  Soon  afterwards  he  came  back 
with  less  precaution.  "  They  are  sit- 
ting eating  their  dinner  close  by,  just 
on  the  sunny  side  of  the  rock,  —  shep- 
herds, as  I  told  you,  —  got  a  dog.  Go 
yourself,  if  you  don't  believe  me." 


274 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


The  leader  went  to  the  spot,  and 
soon  after  returned  and  said  quietly  : 
"  Pals,  I  dare  say  he  is  ri<;ht.  Lie 
still  till  they  have  had  their  dinner; 
they  are  ^oing  farther,  no  doubt." 

Soon  after  this  he  gave  a  hasty  sig- 
nal of  silence,  for  George  and  Robin- 
son at  that  moment  came  round  the 
corner  of  the  rock  and  stood  on  the 
road  not  fifty  yards  above  them. 
Here  they  paused  as  the  valley  burst 
on  their  "view,  and  George  pointed 
out  its  qualities  to  his  comrade.  "  It 
is  not  tirst-rate,  Tom,  but  there  is 
good  grass  in  patches,  and  plenty  of 
water." 

Kobinson,  instead  of  replying  or 
giving  his  mind  to  the  prospect,  said 
to  George  ;  "  Why,  where  is  he  'i  "  — 
"AVho?"— "The  man  that  I  saw 
standing  at  this  corner  a  while  ago. 
He  came  round  this  way,  I'll  be 
sworn." 

"  He  is  gone  away,  I  suppose.  I 
never  saw  any  one,  for  my  part."  — 
"I  did,  though.  Gone  away  "?  How 
could  he  go  away?  The  road  is  in 
sight  for  miles,  and  not  a  creature  on 
it.     He  is  vanished." 

"  I  don't  see  him  any  way,  Tom." 

—  "  Of  course  you  don't ;  he  is  van- 
ished into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  I 
don't  like  gentlemen  that  va/lish  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth." 

"  How  suspicious  you  are  !  Bush- 
rangers again,  I  suppose.  They  are 
always  running  in  your  mind,  —  them 
and  gold."  —  "  You  know  the  coun- 
try, George.  Here,  take  my  stick." 
And  he  handed  George  a  long  stick 
^vith  a  heavy  iron  ferrule.  "  If  a  man 
is  safe  here  he  owes  it  to  himself,  not 
to  his  neighbor." 

"  Then  why  do  you  give  me  your 
■weapon  f  "  said  George,  with  a  smile. 

—  "I  haven't,"  was  the  reply.  "1 
carry  my  sting  out  of  sight  like  a 
humblebee."  And  Mr.  Kobinson 
winked  mysteriously,  and  the  process 
seemed" to  relieve  his  mind  and  soothe 
his  suspicions.  He  then  fell  to  in- 
specting the  rocks  ;  and,  when  George 
pointed  out  to  him  the  broad  and  dis- 
tant pasture,  he  said  in  an  absent  way, 


"  Yes  "  ;  and  turning  round  George 
found  him  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the 
ground  at  his  feet,  and  his  mind  in  a 
deep  revery.  George  was  vexed, 
and  said  somewhat  warmly  :  "  Wliy, 
Tom,  the  place  is  worth  looking  at 
now  we  arc  come  to  it,  surely." 

Robinson  made  no  direct  reply. 
"  George,"  said  he,  thoughtfully, 
"  how  far  have  you  got  towards  your 
thousand  pounds  ?  "  —  "  O  Tom  ! 
don't  ask  me,  don't  remind  me ! 
How  can  I  ever  make  it  ?  No  market 
within  a.thousand  miles  of  any  place 
in  this  confounded  country  !  Forced 
to  boil  down  sheep  into  tallow,  and 
sell  them  for  the  price  of  a  wild  duck  ! 
I  have  left  my  vSusan,  and  I  have  lost 
her.     0,  why  did  you  remind  me  ?  " 

"  So  much  for  the  farming  lay. 
Don't  you  be  downhearted,  there 's 
better  cards  in  the  pack  than  the  five 
of  spades  ;  and  the  fiirther  I  go,  and 
the  more  I  see  of  this  country,  the 
surer  I  am.  There  is  a  good  day  com- 
ing for  you  and  me.  Listen,  George. 
When  i  shut  my  eyes  for  a  moment 
now  where  I  stand,  and  then  open 
them,  I  'm  in  California." — "  Dream- 
ing ■? " 

"  No,  Avide  awake,  —  wider  than 
you  are  now.  George,  look  at  these 
hills ;  you  could  not  tell  them  from 
the  golden  range  of  California.  But 
that  is  not  all ;  when  you  look  into 
them  you  find  they  are  made  of  the 
same  stuff,  too, — granite,  mica,  and 
quartz.  Now  don't  you  be  cross."  — 
"  No,  no  !  why  should  1 1  Show 
me,"  said  George,  trying  out  of  kind- 
heartedness  to  take  an  interest  in  this 
subject,  which  had  so  often  wearied 
him. 

"  Well,  here  are  two  of  them  :  that 
great  dark  bit  out  there  is  mica,  and 
all  this  that  runs  in  a  vein  like  is 
quartz.  Quartz  and  mii-a  are  the 
natural  home  of  gold  ;  and  some  gold 
is  to  be  found  at  home  still,  but  the 
main  of  it  has  been  washed  out  and 
scattered  like  seed  all  over  the  neigh- 
boring clays.  You  see,  George,  the 
world  is  a  thousand  times  older  than 
most  folks  think,  and  water  has  been 


V 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


275 


workino;  upon  gold  thousands  and 
thousands  of  years  belorc  ever  a  man 
stood  upon  the  earth,  ay,  or  a  doj:^ 
cither,  Carlo,  for  as  wise  as  you  look, 
squattinjj  out  there  thinkinjr  of  noth- 
ing and  pretcndino:  to  be  thinking  of 
everythin<^," — "Well,  drop  gold," 
said  George,  "  and  tell  me  what  this 
is  " ;  and  he  handed  Kobinson  a 
small  fossil. 

Robinson  eyed  it  with  wonder  and 
interest,  "  Where  on  earth  did  you 
find  this  1  "  —  "  Hard  by ;  what  is 
it?" 

"Plenty  of  these  in  Cahfornia. 
What  is  it  ?  Why,  I  '11  tell  you  ;  it 
is  a  pale  old  Joey."  —  "  You  don't 
say  so  !  looks  like  a  shell." 

"  Sit  down  a  moment,  George,  and 
let  us  look  at  it.  He  bids  me  drop 
gold,  —  and  then  goes  and  shows  me 
a  proof  of  gold  that  never  deceived  us 
out  there."  —  "  You  are  mad.  How 
can  this  be  a  sign  of  gold  ?  I  tell  you 
it  is  a  shell." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  where  these 
things  are  found  among  mica,  quartz, 
and  granite,  there  gold  is  to  be  found, 
if  men  have  the  wit,  the  patience,  and 
the  skill  to  look  for  it.  I  can't  tell 
you  why;  the  laws  of  gold  puzzle 
deeper  heads  than  mine,  but  so  it  is. 
I  seem  to  smell  gold  all  round  me 
here."  And  Robinson  flushed  all 
over,  so  powerfully  did  the  great  idea 
of  gold  seated  here  on  his  native 
throne  grapple  and  agitate  his  mind. 

"  Tom,"  said  the  other,  doggedly, 
"  if  there  is  as  much  gold  on  the 
ground  of  New  South  Wales  as  will 
make  me  a  wedding-ring,  I  am  a 
Dutchman  ;  and  he  got  up  calmly, 
and  jerked  the  pale  old  Joey  a  tre- 
niendous  way  into  the  valley. 

This  action  put  Robinson's  blood  up. 
"  George,"  cried  he,  springing  up  like 
fire  and  bringing  his  foot  down  sharp 
upon  the  rocky  floor,    "  if   I  don't 

STAND  UPON  GOLD,  I 'm  D — D  !  " 

And  a  wild  but  true  inspiration 
seemed  to  be  upon  the  man  ;  a  stran- 
ger could  hardly  have  helped  believ- 
ing him,  but  George  had  heard  a 
good  deal  of  this,  though  the  mania 


had  never  gone  quite  so  far.  Ho  said 
quickly,  "  Come,  let  us  go  down  into 
the  pasture."  — "  Not  I,"  replied 
Robinson  ;  "come,  George,  prejudice 
is  for  babies,  experience  for  men. 
Here  is  an  unknown  country  with  all 
the  signs  of  gold  thicker  than  ever. 
I  have  got  a  calabash,  —  stay  and  try 
for  gold  in  this  gully  :  it  looks  to  me 
just  like  the  mouth  of  a  purse."  — 
"Not  I."  —  "  I  will,  then." 

"  Why  not  ?  I  don't  think  you 
will  find  anything  in  it,  but  any  way 
you  will  have  a  better  chance  when  I 
am  not  by  to  spoil  you.  Luck  is  all 
against  me.  If  I  want  rain,  comes 
drought  ;  if  I  want  sun,  look  for  a 
deluge  ;  if  there  is  money  to  be  made 
by  a  thing,  I  'm  out  of  it ;  to  be  lost, 
I  'm  in  it ;  if  I  loved  a  vixen,  she  'd 
drop  into  my  arms  like  a  medlar ;  I 
love  an  angel,  and  that  is  why  I  shall 
never  have  her,  never :  from  a  game 
of  marbles  to  the  game  of  life,  I  never 
had  a  grain  of  luck  like  other  people. 
Leave  me,  Tom,  and  try  if  you  can 
find  gold  ;  you  will  have  a  chance,  my 
poor  fellow,  if  unlucky  George  is  not 
aside  you."  —  "  Leave  you,  George  ! 
not  if  I  know  it." 

"  You  are  to  blame  if  you  don't. 
Turn  your  back  on  me  as  I  did  on 
you  in  England."  —  "  Never  !  I  'd 
rather  not  find  gold  than  part  with 
honesty.  There,  I  'm  coming,  —  let 
us  go,  —  quick,  —  come,  let  us  leave 
here."  And  the  two  men  left  the 
road  and  turned  their  faces  and  their 
steps  across  the  ravine. 

During  all  this  dialogue  the  men  in 
the  cave  had  strained  both  eyes  and 
ears  to  comprehend  the  speakers. 
The  distance  was  too  great  for  them 
to  catch  all  the  words,  but  this  much 
was  clear  from  the  first  that  one  of 
the  men  wished  to  stay  on  the  spot 
for  some  purpose,  and  the  other  to 
go  on,  but  presently,  as  the  speakers 
warmed,  a  word  travelled  down  the 
breeze  that  made  the  four  ruffians 
start  and  turn  red  with  surprise  and 
the  next  moment  darken  with  anger 
and  apprehension.  The  word  came 
again  and  again ;  they  all  heard  it,  — 


27G 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


its  open  vowel  pave  it  a  sonorous 
T'm<r  ;  it  seemed  lo  i\y  farther  than 
any  uthec  word  tlje-sjit-aker  uttered, 
or  perhaps  whCif  he  came  to  it  he 
s])oke  it  h)uder  than  smaller  words, 
or  the  hearers'  ears  were  watehini^ 
for  it. 

The  men  interclianged  terrible  looks, 
and  then  they  grasped  their  knives 
and  watelicd  their  leader's  eye  for 
some  deadly  signal.  Again  and  again 
the  word  "  g-o-l-d "  came  like  an 
jlM)liim  note  into  the  seeret  cave,  and 
each  time  eye  sought  eye  and  read  the 
unlucky  speaker's  death-warrant  there. 
But  when  George  prevailed  and  the 
two  men  started  for  the  valley,  the 
men  in  the  cave  cast  uncertain  looks 
on  one  another,  and  he  we  have  called 
Jem  drew  a  long  breath  and  said  bru- 
tally, yet  with  something  of  satisfac- 
tion, "  You  have  saved  your  bacon 
this  time."  The  voices  now  drew 
near  and  the  men  crouched  close,  for 
George  and  Kobinson  passed  within 
fifteen  yards  of  them.  They  were 
talking  now  about  matters  connected 
with  George's  business,  for  liobinson 
made  a  violent  etfort  and  dropped  his 
favorite  theme  to  oblige  his  comrade. 
They  passed  near  the  cave,  and  pres- 
ently their  backs  were  turned  to  it. 

"  Good  by,  my  lads,"  whispered 
Jem.  "  And  curse  you  for  making 
us  lose  a  good  half  an  hour,"  mut- 
tered another  of  the  gang.  The  words 
•were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth  before 
a  sudden  rustle  was  heard  and  there 
■was  Carlo  :  he  had  pulled  up  in  mid- 
career  and  stood  transfixed  with  as- 
tonishment, literally  pointing  the  gang  ; 
it  was  but  for  a  moment,  —  he  did 
not  like  the  lo(;ks  of  the  men  at  all  ; 
he  gave  a  sharp  bark  that  made 
George  and  Kobinson  turn  quickly 
round,  and  then  he  went  on  hunting, 

"A  kangaroo!"  shouted  Kobin- 
son, "  it  must  have  got  up  near  that 
bush  ;  come  and  look,  —  if  it  is  we 
will  hunt  it  down." 

George  turned  back  with  him,  but 
on  reflection  he  said,  "  No  !  Tom,  we 
have  a  long  road  to  go,  let  us  keep  on 
if  you  please  "  ;  and  they  once  more 


turned  their  backs  to  the  rave,  Avliis- 
tled  Carlo,  and  step[>ed  briskly  out 
towards  the  valley.  A  few  yards  be- 
fore them  was  the  brook  I  have  al- 
ready noticed,  —  it  was  about  three 
yards  broad  at  this  spot ;  however, 
kobinson,  who  was  determined  not  to 
make  George  lose  any  more  time, 
took  the  lead,  and,  giving  himself  the 
benefit  of  a  run,  cleared  it  like  a  buck  ; 
but  as  be  was  in  the  air  his  eye  caught 
some  object  on  this  side  the  brook, 
and,  making  a  little  circle  on  the  other 
side,  he  came  back  with  ludicrous  pre- 
cipitancy, and  jumping  short  htnded 
with  one  foot  on  shore  and  one  in 
the  stream.  George  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?  "  cried  Kobin- 
son. "  Yes  ;  somebody  has  been 
digging  a  hole  here,"  said  George, 
very  coolly. 

"  Come  higher  up,"  cried  Robinson, 
all  in  a  flutter, — "do  you  see  this  ?  "-^ 
"  Yes  ;  it  is  another  hole." 

"  It  is  :  do  you  see  this  wet,  too  ?  " 
—  "I  see  there  has  been  some  water 
spilt  by  the  brookside." 

"  What  kind  of  work  has  been  done 
here  ?  have  they  been  digging  pota- 
toes, farmer  "?  "  —  "  Don't  -be  foolish, 
Tom." 

"  Is  Lt  any  kind  of  work  you  know  ? 
Here  is  another  trench  dug."  —  •'  No  ! 
it  is  nothing  in  my  way,  that  is  the 
truth." 

"  But  it  is  work  the  signs  of  which 
I  know  as  well  as  you  know  a  ploutihed 
field  from  a  turnpike-road."  —  "  Why, 
what  is  it  then  ?  "  —  "  It  i-s  gold  wash- 
ing." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Tom."  —  "  This 
is  gold  washing  as  beginners  practise 
it  in  California  and  Mexico  and  Peru, 
and  wherever  gold-dust  is  found. 
They  have  been  working  with  a  pan, 
they  haven't  got  such  a  thing  as  a 
cradle  in  this  country.  Come  lower 
di)wn  ;  this  was  yesterday's  work,  let 
us  find  today's." 

The  two  men  now  ran  down  the 
stream  busy  as  dogs  luintin<r  an  otter. 
A  little  lower  down  they  found  both 
banks  of  the  stream  pitted  with  holes 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


277 


about  tATO  feet  deep,  and  the  sides 
drtMU'lied  with  water  from  it. 

"  Well,  if  it  is  so,  you  need  not 
look  so  pule :  why,  dear  me,  how 
pale  you  are,  Tom  !  "  —  "  You  would 
be  pale,"  gasped  Tom,  "  if  you  could 
see  what  a  day  this  is  for  you  and  me, 
ay !  and  for  all  the  world,  old  Eng- 
land especially.  George,  in  a  month 
there  will  be  live  thousand  itien  work- 
ing round  this  little  spot.  Ay  !  come," 
ciied  he,  shouting  wildly  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  "  there  is  plenty  for  all. 
Gold  !  gold  !  gold  !  I  have  found 
it.  I,  Tom  Rt)binson,  I've  found  it, 
and  I  grudge  it  to  no  man.  I,  a  thief 
that  was,  make  a  present  of  it  to  its 
rightful  owner,  and  that  is  all  the 
world.     Here  gold  !  gold  !  gold  !  " 

Though  George  hardly  understood 
his  companion's  words,  he  was  carried 
away  hy  the  torrent  of  his  enthusiasm, 
and  even  as  Robinson  spoke  his 
cheeks  in  turn  flushed  and  his  eyes 
flashed,  and  he  grasped  his  friend's 
hand§  warmly,  and  cried  "  Gold  ! 
gold  !  blessings  on  it  if  it  takes  me 
to  Susan  ;  gold  !  gold  !  " 

The  poor  fellows'  triumph  and 
friendly  exultation  lasted  but  a  mo- 
ment; the  words  were  scarce  out  of 
Robinson's  mouth,  when  to  his  sur- 
prise George  started  from  him,  turned 
very  pale,  but  at  the  same  time  lifted 
his  iron-shod  stick  high  in  the  air  and 
clenched  his  teeth  with  desperate 
resolution.  Four  men  with  shaggy 
beards  and  wild  fices  and  murderous 
eyes  were  literally  upon  them,  each 
with  a  long  glittering  knife  raised  in 
the  air. 

At  that  fearful  moment,  George 
learned  the  value  of  a  friend  that  had 
seen  adventure  and  crime;  rapid  and 
lierce  and  unexpected  as  the  attack 
was,  Robinson  was  not  caught  olf  his 
guard.  His  hand  went  like  lightning 
into  his  bosom,  and  the  assailants  in 
the  very  act  of  striking  were  met  in 
the  face  by  the  long,  glistening  barrels 
of  a  rifle  revolver,  while  the  cool, 
wicked  eye  behind  it  showed  them 
nothing  was  to  be  hoped  in  that  quar- 
ter from  flurry,  or  haste,  or  indecision. 


The  twdl^Qi^^  iTi^arest  the  revolver 
started  baclqli^Mfiithcr  two  neitUe*'  re- 
coiled nor  advMecdj  but  mei-cly  hun;; 
Are.  George  juude  a  movement  to 
throw  himself  upon  them  ;  but  Rob- 
inson seized  him  fiercely  by  the 
arm.  He  said  steadily  but  sternly  : 
"  Keep  cool,  young  man,  no  running 
among  their  knives  Avhile  they  are 
four.  Strike  across  me  and  I  shall 
guard  you  till  we  have  thinned  'em." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Black  Will ; 
"  here,  pals  ! "  The  four  assailants 
came  together  like  a  fan  for  a  mo- 
ment and  took  a  whisper  from  their 
leader.  They  then  spread  out  like  a 
fan,  and  began  to  encircle  their  an- 
tagonists so  as  to  attack  on  both 
sides  at  once. 

"  Back  to  the  water,  George,"  crted 
Robinson,  quickly,  "  to  the  broad 
part  here."  Robinson  calculated 
that  the  stream  would  protect  his 
rear,  and,  that  safe,  he  was  content  to 
wait  and  profit  by  the  slightest  error 
of  his  numerous  assailants  ;  this,  how- 
ever, was  to  a  certain  degree  a  mis- 
calculation, for  the  huge  ruffian  we 
have  called  Jem  sprang  boldly  across 
the  stream  higher  up  and  prepared  to 
attack  the  men  behind  the  moment 
they  should  be  engaged  with  his  com- 
rades. The  others  no  sooner  saw  him 
in  position  than  they  rushed  desper- 
ately upon  George  and  Robinson  in 
the  form  of  a  crescent,  and,  as  they 
came  on,  Jem  came  flying  knife  in 
hand  to  plunge  it  into  Robinson's 
back.  As  the  front  assailants  neared 
them,  true  to  his  promise,  Robinson 
fired  across  George,  and  the  outside 
man  received  a  bullet  in  his  shoulder- 
blade,  and  turning  round  like  a  top 
fell  upon  his  knees.  Unluckily, 
George  wasted  a  blow  at  this  man 
which  sung  idly  over  him,  he  drop- 
ping his  head  and  losing  his  knife 
and  his  powers  at  the  very  moment. 
By  this  means  Robinson,  the  moment 
he  had  fired  his  pistol,  had  no  less 
than  three  assailants;  one  of  those 
George  struck  behind  the  neck  so  fu- 
riously witii  a  back-handed  stroke  of 
his  iron-shod  stick  that  he  fell  sense- 


278 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


less  at  I\ol)inson's  feet.  The  other, 
met  ill  front  by  tlie  revolver,  recoiled, 
but  kept  Robinson  at  bay  while  Jem 
sprang  on  him  from  the  rear.  This 
attack  was  the  most  dangerous  of  all ; 
in  fact  neither  Kohinson  nor  George 
liad  time  to  defend  themselves  against 
liim  even  if  they  had  seen  him,  which 
they  did  not.  Now  as  Jem  was  in 
the  very  act  of  making  his  spring 
from  the  other  side  of  the  brook,  a 
spear  glanced  like  a  streak  of  light 
past  Ihe  principal  combatants  and 
pierced  Jem  through  and  through  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  thigh,  and  there 
stood  Jacky  at  forty  yards'  distance, 
with  the  hand  still  raised  from  which 
the  spear  had  flown,  and  his  emu- 
fike  eye  glittering  with  the  light  of 
bi^tle. 

Jem,  instead  of  bounding  clear  over 
the  stream,  fell  heavily  into  the  mid- 
dle of  it  and  lay  writhing  and  floun- 
dering at  George's  mercy,  who  turn- 
ing in  alarm  at  the  sound  stood  over 
him,  with  his  long  deadly  staff"  whirl- 
ing and  swinging  round  his  head  in 
the  air,  while  Robinson  placed  one 
foot  firmly  on  the  stunned  man's  right 
arm  and  threatened  the  leader.  Black 
Will,  with  his  pistol,  and  at  the  same 
moment  with  a  wild  and  piercing 
yell  Jacky  came  down  in  leaps  like  a 
kangaroo,  his  tomahawk  flourished 
over  his  head,  his  features  entirely 
changed,  and  the  thirst  of  blood 
written  upon  every  inch  of  him. 
Black  Will  was  preparing  to  run  away 
and  leave  his  wounded  companions, 
but  at  sight  of  the  fleet  savage  he 
stood  still  and  roared  out  for  mercy. 
"  Quarter  !  quarter  !  "  cried  Black 
Will.  —7  "  Down  on  your  knees  !  " 
cried  Robinson,  in  a  terrible  voice. 

The  man  fell  on  his  knees,  and  in 
that  posture  Jacky  would  certainly 
have  knocked  out  his  brains,  but  that 
Robinson  pointed  the  pistol  at  his 
head  nnd  forbade  him  ;  and  Carlo, 
who  had  arrived  hastily  at  the  sound 
of  battle,  in  great  excitement  but  not 
with  clear  ideas,  seeing  Jacky,  whom 
he  always  looked  on  as  a  wild  ani- 
mal, opposed  in  some  way  to  Robin- 


son, seized  him  directly  by  the  leg 
from  behind  and  held  him  howling  in 
a  vice.  "  Hold  your  cursed  noise,  all 
of  you,"  roared  Rol)inson.  "  D'  yo 
ask  quarter  ?  "  —  "  Quarter  !  "  cried 
Black  Will. —  "  Quarter  !  "  gurgled 
Jem.  "  Quarter  !  "  echoed  more  faint- 
ly the  wounded  man.  The  other  was 
insensible. 

"  Thei^  throw  me  your  knives." 
The  men  hesitated. 

"  Throw  me  them  this  instant, 
or  —  "  They  threw  down  their  knives. 

"  George,  take  them  and  tie  them 
up  in  your  wipe."  George  took  the 
knives  and  tied  them  up. 

"  Now  pull  that  big  brute  out  of  the 
water,  or  he  'II  drown  himself." 
George  and  Jacky  pulled  Jem  out  of 
the  water  with  the  spear  sticking  in 
him ;  the  water  was  discolored  with 
his  blood. 

"  Pull  the  spear  out  of  him  !  " 
George  pulled  and  Jem  roared  with 
pain,  but  the  spear-head  would  not 
come  back  through  the  wound  ;  then 
Jacky  came  up  and  broke  the  light 
shaft  off  close  to  the  skin,  and  grasp- 
ing the  head  drew  the  remainder 
through  the  wound  forward,  and 
grinned  with  a  sense  of  superior  wis- 
dom. 

By  this  time  the  man  whom  George 
had  felled  sat  up  on  his  beam-ends 
winking  and  blinking  and  confused 
like  a  great  owl  at  sunrise. 

Then  Robinson,  who  had  never  lost 
his  presence  of  mind,  and  had  now 
recovered  his  sang-froid,  made  all 
four  captives  sit  round  together  on 
the  ground  in  one  little  lot,  "  while  I 
show  you  the  error  of  your  ways," 
said  he.  "  I  could  forgive  a  rascal, 
but  I  hate  a  fool.  You  thought  to 
keep  such  a  secret  as  this  all  to  your- 
selves —  you  dunces  —  tlu;  very  birds 
in  the  air  would  carry  it ;  it  never  was 
kept  secret  in  any  land,  and  never 
will.  And  you  would  spill  blood 
sooner  than  your  betters  should  know 
it,  —  ye  ninny  -  cum  -  poo])S  !  What 
the  worse  are  you  for  our  knowing  it? 
If  a  thousand  knew  it  to-day,  would 
that  lower  the  price  of  gold  a  penny 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


279 


an  ounce  ?  No  !  All  the  harm  they 
could  do  you  would  be  this,  that  some 
of  them  would  show  you  where  it  lies 
thickest,  and  then  you  'd  profit  by  it. 
You  had  better  tie  that  leg  of  yours 
up  ;  you  have  lost  blood  enough,  I 
should  say,  by  the  look  of  you  ;  liave 
n't  you  got  a  wipe  ?  here,  take  mine, 
—  you  deserve  it,  don't  you?  No 
man's  luck  hurts  his  neighbor  at  this 
Avork ;  how  clever  you  were  !  you 
have  just  pitched  on  the  unlikeliest 
place  in  the  whole  gully,  and  you 
wanted  to  kill  the  man  that  would 
have  taught  you  which  are  the  likelier 
ones.  I  shall  find  ten  times  as  much 
gold  before  the  sun  sets  as  you  will 
hiid  in  a  week  by  the  side  of  that 
stream  ;  why,  it  has  n't  been  running 
above  a  thousand  years  or  two,  I 
should  say  by  the  look  of  it ;  you 
have  got  plenty  to  learn,  you  bloody- 
minded  greeniaorns  !  Now  I  '11  tell 
you  what  it  is,"  continued  Robinson, 
getting  angry  about  it,  "  since  you  ai-e 
for  keeping  dark  what  little  you 
know,  I  '11  keep  yoa  dark  ;  and  in  ten 
minutes  my  pal  here  and  the  very 
nigger  shall  know  more  about  gold- 
finding  than  you  know,  so  be  off,  for 
I  'm  going  to  work.    Come,  march  !  " 

"  Wliere  are  we  to  go,  mate  1  "  said 
the  leader,  sullenly.  —  "  Do  you  see 
that  ridge  about  three  miles  west  ? 
well,  if  we  catch  you  on  this  side  of  it 
we  will  hang  you  like  wild-cats.  On 
the  other  side  of  it  do  what  you  like, 
and  try  all  you  know  ;  but  this  gul- 
ly belongs  to  us  now  ;  you  wanted  to 
t.ike  something  from  us  that  did  not 
belong  to  you,  —  our  blood,  —  so  now 
we  take  something  from  you  that 
did  n't  belong  to  us  a  minute  or  two 
ago.  Come,  mizzle,  and  no  more 
words,  or —  "  And  he  pointed  the  tail 
of  his  discourse  with  his  revolver. 

The  men  rose,  and  with  sullen,  rue- 
ful, downcast  looks  moved  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  boundary  ;  but  one 
remained  behind,  the  man  was  Jem. 

"  Well !  "  —  "  Captnin,  1  wish  you 
would  let  me  join  in  with  you  !  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  —  "  Well,  captain, 
you  Ve  lent  me  your  wipe,  and  I  think 


a  deal  of  it,  for  it  *s  what  I  did  not 
deserve;  but  that  is  not  all.  You  are 
the  best  man,  and  I  like  to  be  under 
the  best  man,  if  I  must  be  under  any- 
body." 

llobinson  hesitated  a  moment. 
"  Come  here,"  said  he.  The  man 
came  and  fronted  him.  "  Look  mo 
in  the  face !  now  give  me  your  hand, 

—  quick,  no  thinking  about  how  !  " 
The  man  gave  him  his  hand  readily. 
Kobinson  looked  into  his  eyes. 
"  What  is   your  name  ?  "  —  "  Jem." 

—  "  Jem,  we  take  you  on  trial." 
Jem's  late  companions,  who  per- 
fectly comprehended  what  was  passing, 
turned  and  hooted  the  deserter  :  Jem, 
whose  ideas  of  repartee  were  primi- 
tive, turned  and  hooted  them  in  re- 
ply- 

While  the  men  were  retreating, 
Robinson  walked  thoughtfully,  with 
his  hands  behind  him,  backwards  and 
forwards,  like  a  great  admiral  on  his 
quarter-deck,  —  enemy  to  leeward. 
Every  eye  was  upon  him,  and  watched 
him  in  respectful,  inquiring  silence. 
"  Knowledge  is  power  "  ;  this  was 
the  man  now,  the  rest  children. 

"  What  tools  have  you  1  "  — 
"  There  is  a  spade  and  trowel  in  that 
bush,  captain." 

"Fetch  them,  George.  Hadn't 
you  a  pan?"  —  "No,  captain?  we 
used  a  calabash  :  he  will  find  it  lower 
down." 

George,  after  a  little  search,  found 
all  these  objects,  and  brought  them 
back.  "  Now," cried  Robinson,  "  these 
greenhorns  have  been  washing  in  a 
stream  that  runs  now,  but  perhaps  in 
the  days  of  Noah  was  not  a  river  at  all ; 
but  you  look  at  the  old  bed  of  a  stream 
down  out  there :  that  was  a  mtich 
stronger  stream  than  this  in  its  day, 
and  it  ran  for  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  years  before  it  dried  up." 

"  How  can  you  tell  that  ?  "  said 
George,  resuming  some  of  his  incre- 
dulity.—  "Look  at  those  monstrous 
stones  in  it  here,  there,  and  every- 
where. It  has  been  a  powerful  stream 
to  carry  such  masses  with  it  as  that, 
and  it  has  been  running  many  thou" 


280 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD. 


Band  years,  for  see  how  fleep  it  has 
eatiMi  into  its  roiky  sides  here  and 
there.  That  was  a  river,  my  Kids, 
and  washed  j^old  down  for  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  years  hefore  ever 
Adam  stood  on  the  earth." 

The  men  <rave  a  hurrah,  and  Georj^e 
and  Jaeky  prepared  to  run  and  find 
the  treasure.  "  Stop,"  eried  llobin- 
son,  "you  are  not  at  the  gold  yet. 
Can  you  tell  in  what  parts  of  the 
channel  it  lies  thick,  and  where  there 
is  n't  enough  to  pay  the  labor  of 
washing  it  f  Well,  I  can  ;  look  at 
that  bend  where  the  round  pebbles 
are  collected  so,  there  was  a  strong 
eddy  there.  Well,  under  the  ridge  of 
that  eddy  is  ten  times  as  much  gold 
lying  as  in  the  level  parts.  Stop  a 
bit  again, — do  you  know  how  deep 
or  how  shallow  it  lies  ?  do  you  think 
you  can  find  it  by  the  eye?  Do  you 
know  what  clays  it  sinks  through  as 
if  they  were  a  sieve,  and  what  stops  it 
like  an  iron  door?  Your  quickest 
way  is  to  take  Captain  Robinson's 
lime,  —  and  that  is  now." 

He  snatched  the  spade,  and,  giving 
full  vent  to  the  ardor  he  had  so  long 
suppressed  with  difficulty,  plunged 
down  a  little  declivity  that  led  to  the 
ancient  stream,  and  drove  his  spade 
into  its  shingle,  the  detris  of  centuries 
of  centuries.  George  sprang  after 
him,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  hope  and 
agitation  ;  the  black  followed  in  won- 
der and  excitrmcnt,  and  the  wounded 
Jem  limped  last,  and,  unable  through 
weakness  to  work,  seated  himself  with 
glowing  eyes  upon  that  ancient  river's 
bank. 

"  Away  with  all  this  gravel  and 
shingle,  —  those  are  all  new-comers, 
—  the  real  bed  of  the  stream  is  be- 
low all  this,  and  we  must  get  down  to 
that." 

Trowel  and  spade  and  tomahawk 
went  furiously  to  ivork,  and  soon 
cleared  away  thf  gravel  from  a  surface 
of  three  or  f  )ur  feet :  beneath  this  they 
found  a  bed  of  gray  clay. 

"  Let  us  wash  that,  captain,"  said 
Jem,  eagerly.  —  "  No  !  Jem,"  was  the 
reply,  "  that  is  the  way  novices  waste 


their  time.  This  gray  Hay  is  porous, 
too  porous  to  hold  gold,  —  we  must 
go  deeper." 

Tomahawk,  spade,  and  trowel  went 
furiously  to  work  again. 

"  Give  me  the  sp;idc,"  said  George, 
and  he  dug  and  shovelled  out  with 
herculean  strength  and  amazing  ar- 
dor; his  rheumatism  was  gone  and 
nerves  came  back  from  that  very 
hour.     "  Here  is  a  white  clay." 

"  Let  me  see  it.  ripe-clay  !  go  no 
deeper,  George ;  if  you  were  to  dig  a 
hundred  feet  you  would  not  find  an 
ounce  of  gold  below  that." 

George  rested  on  his  spade.  "What 
are  we  to  do  then  ?  try  somewhere 
else  ?  "  —  "  Not  till  we  have  tried  here 
first." 

"  But  you  say  there  is  nothing  he- 
low  this  pipe-clay."  —  "  No  more  there 
is." 

"Well,  then."  — "But  I  don't  say 
there  is  nothing  a])0ve  it !  !  !  " 

"  Well,  but  there  is  nothing  much 
above  it  except  the  gray,  without  't 
is  this  small  streak  of  brownish  clay, 
but  that  is  not  an  inch  thick."  — 
"  George !  in  that  inch  lies  all  the 
gold  we  are  likely  to  find  ;  if  it  is  not 
there  we  have  only  to  go  elsewhere. 
Now  while  I  get  water  you  stick  your 
spade  in  and  cut  the  brown  day  away 
from  the  white  it  lies  on.  Don't  leave 
a  spot  of  the  brown  sticking  to  the 
white,  —  the  lower  part  of  the  brown 
clay  is  the  likeliest." 

A  shower  having  fallen  the  day  be- 
fore, Robinson  found  water  in  a  hole 
not  far  distant.  He  filled  his  calabash 
and  returned  ;  meantime  George  and 
Jacky  had  got  together  nearly  a  bar 
rowful  of  the  brown,  or  rather  clioco 
late-colorcd  chiy,  mixed  slightly  wil^ 
the  upper  and  lower  strata,  the  graj 
and  white. 

"  I  want  yon  calabash,  and  George's 
as  Avell."  Robinson  filled  George's 
calal)ash  two  thirds  full  of  the  stuff, 
and,  pouring  some  wnter  upon  it, 
said  good-naturedly  to  Jem,  "  There, 
you  may  do  the  first  washing  if  you 
like." 

"  Thank  you,  captain,"   said  Jem, 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


281 


"whc  proceerled  instantly  to  stir  and 
dissolve  the  ch\y  and  pDiir  it  carefully 
iiway  as  it  dissolved.  Jaeky  was  sent 
for  rnoie  water,  and  this  when  used  as 
desciihed  had  left  the  clay  reduced 
to  about  one  sixth  of  its  original 
bulk. 

"  Now,  captain,"  cried  Jem,  in 
great  excitement.  —  '"  No,  it  's  not 
now  captain  yet,"  said  Robinson ; 
"  is  that  the  way  you  do  pan- 
WMshing?  " 

He  then  took  the  calabash  from  Jem, 
and  gave  hiiu  Jacky's  calabash  two 
thirds  full  of  clay  to'^treat  like  the  oth- 
er, and,  this  being  done,  he  emptied 
the  dry  remains  of  one  calabash  into 
tlie  other,  and  gave  Jem  a  third  lot  to 
treat  likewise.  This  done,  you  will 
observe  he  had  in  one  calabash  the 
results  of  three  first  washings  :  but 
now  he  trusted  Jem  no  longer.  He 
took  the  calabash  and  said,  "  You 
look  faint,  you  are  not  fit  to  work ; 
besides,  you  have  not  got  the  right 
twist  of  the  hand  yet,  my  lad  ;  pour  for 
me,  Georse."  Robinson  stirred  and 
began  to  dissolve  the  three  remainders, 
and  every  now  and  then  with  an  art- 
ful turn  of  the  hand  he  sent  a  portion 
of  the  muddy  liquid  out  of  the  vessel. 
At  the  end  of  this  washing  there  re- 
mained scarce  more  than  a  good 
handful  of  clay  at  the  bottom.  More 
Avater  was  poured  on  this.  "  Now," 
said  Rol)inson,  "  we  shall  know  this 
time,  and,  if  you  see  but  one  spot  of 
yt'llow  amongst  it,  we  are  all  gentle- 
men and  men  of  fortime." 

He  dissolved  the  clay,  and  twisted 
and  turned  the  vessel  with  great  dex- 
terity, and  presently  the  whole  of  the 
clay  Avas  liquetied. 

"  Now,"  said  Robinson,  "  all  your 
eyes  upon  it,  and,  if  I  spill  anything  I 
ought  to  keep,  you  tell  me."  He 
said  this  coneeitedly,  but  with  evident 
agitation.  He  Avas  noAV  pouring  away 
the  dirty  Avater  Avith  the  utmost  care, 
so  that  anything  however  small  that 
might  ])e  heavier  than  clay  should  re- 
main behind.  Presently  he  paused 
and  drew  a  long  breath.  He  feared 
to  decide  so  great  a  question:  it  Avas 


I  but  for  a  moment ;  he  began  again 
to  pour  the  dirty  Avater  aAvay  very 

I  sIoAvly  and  carefully.     Every  eye  was 

!  diving  into  the  vessel.  There  was  a 
dead  silence ! 

Robinson  poured  with  great  care. 
There  was  now  little  more  than  a 
wineglass  left.  , 

Dead  Silence  ! 

I  Suddenly  a  tremendous  cry  broke 
from   all   these   silent  figures  at  the 

i  same  instant.  A  cry !  it  Avas  a  yell. 
I  don't  knoAV  Avhat  to  compare  it  to  : 
but  imagine  that  a  score  of  woh'es 
had  hunted  a  horse  for  tAvo  centuries 
up  and  ilown,  round  and  round,  some-( 

!  times  losing  a  yard,  sometimes  uain- 
ing  one  on  him,  and  at  last,  afier  a 
thousand  disappointments  and  fierce( 
alternations  of  hope  and  despair,  the 
horse  had  suddenly  stumbled  atid  the 
wild  gluttons  had  pounced,  on  him  at 
last.  Such  a  fierce  yell  of  triuinpl 
burst  from  four  human  bosoms  noAv. ' 
"  Hurrah  !  Ave  are  the  greatest  men 
above  ground.  If  a  hundred  emper- 
ors and  kings  died  to-day,  their  places 
could  be  filled  to-morrow ;  but  the 
Avorld  could  not  do  without  us  and 
our  find.  We  are  gentlemen,  —  we 
are  noblemen,  —  Ave  are  Avhatever 
Ave  like  to  be.  Hurrah  ! "  cried  Rob- 
inson. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  George,  "  I  see 
my  Susan's  eyes  in  you,  you  beauty." 
"  Hurrah  !  "  Avhined  Jem,  feebly, 
"  let  me  see  hoAv  much  there  is  "  ;  and 
clutching  the  calabash  he  ftinted  at 
that  moment  from  loss  of  blood,  and 
fell  forAvard  insensible,  his  face  in  the 
vessel  that  held  the  gold,  and  his 
hands  grasping  it  so  ti'iht  that  great 
force  had  to  be  used  to  separate  them. 
They  lifted  Jem  and  set  him  up 
again,  and  sprinkled  water  in  his  face. 
The  man's  thick  lip  Avas  cut  by  the 
side  of  the  vessel,  and  more  than  one 
drop  of  blood  bad  trick l<d  doAvn  its 
sides,  and  mingled  Avith  the  gold- 
dust. 

No  comment  Avas  made  on  this  at 
the  time.     Tiiey  were  so  bu>^y. 

'•  There,  he 's  coming  to,  and  we  Ve 
no  time  to  waste  nursing  the   sick 


282 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   ]\n:ND. 


"Work !  "  and  they  sprang  up  on  to 
the  work  ajrain. 

It  was  not  what  you  have  seen  pass  : 
for  work  in  Europe,  it  was  men  work-  | 
ing  themselves  for  once  as  they  make  \ 
horses  work  forever.  Work  ?  It  was  j 
battle ;  it  was  humanity  fighting  and 
strugfiling  with  Nature  for  her  prime 
treasure —  (so  esteemed).  How  they 
dug  and  scraped,  and  fought  tooth, 
and  spade,  and  nail,  and  trowel,  and 
tomahawk  for  gold !  Their  shirts 
were  Avet  through  with  sweat,  yet  they 
felt  no  fatigue.  Their  trousers  were 
sheets  of  clay,  yet  they  suffered  no 
sense  of  dirt.  The  wounded  man  re- 
covered a  portion  of  his  strength,  and 
thirsting  for  gold  brought  feeble  hands 
but  indomitable  ardor  to  the  great 
cause.  They  dug,  they  scraped,  they 
bowed  their  backs,  and  wrought  with 
fury  and  inspiration  unparalleled  ;  and, 
when  the  sun  began  to  decline  behind 
the  hills,  these  four  human  mutes  felt 
injured.  They  lifted  their  eyes  a  mo- 
ment from  the  ground,  and  cast  a  fret- 
ful look  at  the  great  tranquil  lumi- 
nary. 


Are  you  really  going  to  set  th'<? 
afternoon  the  same  as  usual,  wlien  wc 
need  your  services  so? 

Woulfl  you  know  wliy  that  wolfi&h 
yell  of  triumph  ?  Would  you  sec 
what  sight  so  electrified  those  gloating 
eyes  and  panting  bosoms  1  Would 
you  realize  that  discovery,  which  in 
six  months  peopled  that  barren  spot 
with  thousands  of  men  from  all  the 
civilized  tribes  upon  earth,  and  in  a 
few  years  must  and  will  make  despised 
Australia  a  queen  among  the  nations, 
—  nations  who  must  and  will  come 
with  the  best  thing  they  have,  wealth, 
talent,  cunning,  song,  pencil,  pen, 
tongue,  arm,  and  lay  them  all  at  her 
feet  for  this  one  thing  ? 

Would  you  behold  this  great  dis- 
covery the  same  in  appearance  and 
magnitude  as  it  met  the  eyes  of  the 
first  discoverers,  picked  with  a  knife 
from  the  bottom  of  a  calabash,  sep- 
arated at  last  by  human  art  and  grav- 
ity's great  law  from  the  meaner  dust 
it  had  lurked  in  for  a  million  years  — 

Then  turn  your  eyes  hither  for 
here  it  is. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

Mr.  Meadows  despatched  his 
work  in  Shropshire  twice  as  fast  as 
he  had  calculated,  and  returned  home 
with  two  forces  battling  inside  him,  — 
love  and  prudence.  The  battle  was 
decidcfl  for  him.    ^ 

William  Fielding's  honest  but  awk- 
ward iiitcrfortnce  had  raised  in  Su- 
san Merton  a  desire  to  separate  her 
sentiments  from  his  by  showing 
Mr.  Meadows  a  marked  respect.     She 


heard  of  his  arrival  and  instantly  sent 
her  father  to  welcome  him  home. 
(^Id  Merton  embraced  the  commis- 
sion, for  he*  happened  to  need  Mcad- 
ows's  advice  and  assistance.  The 
spccidaiions  into  which  he  had  been 
led  by  Mr.  Clinton,  after  ^omc  fiuc- 
tuMtions,  wore  a  i:h)<*niy  look,  "  wliich 
coiiM  only  be  ten)por:iry,"  said  th:it 
gentleman.  Still  a  great  loss  would 
be  incurred  by  selling  out  of  them  at 
a  period  of  depression,  and  Mr.  Clin- 
ton advised  him  to  boiTOW  a  thousand 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


283 


pounds  and  hold  on  till  things  bright- 
ened. 

Mr.  Meadows  smiled  grimly  as  the 
fly  came  and  buzzed  all  this  in  his 
web  :  "  Dear  !  dear !  what  a  pity  my 
money  is  locked  up !  Go  to  Lawyer 
Crawley.  Use  my  name.  He  won't 
refuse  my  friend,  for  I  could  do  him 
an  ill  turn  if  I  chose." 

"  I  will.  You  are  a  true  friend. 
You  will  look  in  and  see  us  of  course 
market-day  1  " 

"  Why  not  1  '* 

Meadows  did  not  resume  his  visits 
at  Grassmere  without  some  twinges 
of  conscience  and  a  prudent  resolve 
not  to  anchor  his  happiness  upon 
Susan  Merton.  "  That  man  might 
come  here  any  day  with  his  thousand 
pounds  and  take  her  from  me,"  said 
he.  "  He  seems  by  his  letters  to  be 
doing  well,  and  they  say  any  fool  can 
make  money  in  the  colonies.  Well,  if 
he  comes  home  respectable  and  well 
to  do,  —  I  '11  go  out.  If  I  am  not  to 
have  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved  or 
cared  for,  let  thousands  and  thousands 
of  miles  of  sea  lie  between  me  and 
that  pair."  But  still  he  wheeled 
about  the  flame. 

Erelong  matters  took  a  very  differ- 
ent turn.  The  tone  of  George's  let- 
ters began  to  change.  His  repeated 
losses  of  bullocks  and  sheep  were  all 
recorded  in  his  letters  to  Susan,  and 
these  letters  were  all  read  witli  eager 
anxiety  by  Meadows  a  day  before  they 
reached  Grassmere. 

The  respectable  man  did  not  com- 
mit this  action  without  some  iron 
passing  through  his  own  soul,  —  Nemo 
repente  turpissimiis.  The  first  letter 
he  opened,  it  was  like  picking  a  lock. 
He  writhed  and  blushed,  and  his  un- 
certain fingers  fumbled  with  another's 
property  as  if  it  had  been  red-hot. 
The  next  cost  him  some  shame  too, 
but  the  next  less,  and  soon  these  little 
spasms  of  conscience  began  to  be  lost 
in  the  pleasure  the  letters  gave  him. 
*'  It  is  dear  he  will  never  make  a 
thousand  pounds  out  there,  and  if  he 
does  n't  the  old  farmer  won't  give  him 
Susan.     Won't  I    He  sha'  n't  !     He 


shall  be  too  deep  in  my  debt  to  ven- 
ture on  it  even  if  he  was  minded." 
Meadows  exulted  over  the  letters ;  and 
as  he  exulted  they  stabbed  him,  for 
by  the  side  of  the  records  of  his  ill 
fortune  the  exile  never  failed  to  pour 
out  his  love  and  confidence  in  his  Su- 
san and  to  acknowledge  the  receipt 
of  some  dear  letter  from  her,  which 
Meadows  could  see  by  George's  must 
have  assured  him  of  undiminished  or 
even  increased  affection. 

Thus  did  sin  lead  to  sin.  By  break- 
ing a  seal  which  was  not  his  and  read- 
ing letters  which  were  not  his,  Mead- 
ows filled  himself  with  the  warmest 
hopes  of  possessing  Susan  one  day, 
and  got  to  hate  George  for  the  stabs 
the  young  man  innocently  gave  him. 
At  last  he  actually  looked  on  George 
as  a  sort  of  dog  in  the  manger,  who 
could  not  make  Susan  happy,  yet 
would  come  between  her  heart  and 
one  who  could.  All  weapons  seemed 
lawful  against  such  a  mere  pest  as  this, 
—  a  dog  in  the  manger. 

Meadows  started  with  nothing  bet- 
ter nor  worse  than  a  commonplace 
conscience.  A  vicious  habit  is  an  iron 
that  soon  sears  that  sort  of  article. 
When  he  had  opened  and  read  about 
four  letters,  his  moral  nature  turned 
stone-blind  of  one  eye.  And  now  he 
was  happier  (On  the  surface)  than  he 
had  been  ever  since  he  fell  in  love  with 
Susan. 

Sure  now  that  one  day  or  another 
she  must  be  his,  he  waited  patiently, 
enjoyed  her  society  twice  a  week,  got 
everybody  into  his  power,  and  bided 
his  time.     And  one  frightful  thing  in 
all  this  was  that  his  love  for  Susan 
was  not  only  a  strong  but  in  itself  a     i 
good   love.     I   mean   it   was  a   love     | 
founded  on  esteem  ;  it  Avas  a  passion-    f 
ate  love,  and  yet  a  profound  and  ten-     \ 
der  affection.     It  was  the  love  which     I 
under  different  circumstances  has  of- 
ten weaned  men,  ay,  and  women  too, 
from  a  frivolous,  selfish,   and  some- 
times from  a  vicious  life.     This  love 
Meadows  thought  and   hoped  would 
hallow  the  unlawful  means  by  which 
he  must  crown  it.     In  fact,  he  was 


284 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


mixing  vice  and  virtue.  The  snow 
was  to  whiten  the  pitch,  not  the  ])it(h 
blacken  the  snow.  Tliousauds  liad 
tried  this  before  him  and  will  try  it 
after  him.  ()  tiiat  1  could  persuade 
them  to  mix  fire  and  ^nin])0\vder  in- 
stead !  Men  would  bless  mc  for  this 
when  all  else  I  have  written  has  been 
Jonjr,  lonj;  forgotten. 

He  felt  good  all  over  when  he  sat 
with  Susan  and  thought  how  his 
means  would  enable  that  angel  to 
satisfy  her  charitable  nature,  and  win 
the  prayers  of  the  poor  as  well  as  the 
admiration  of  the  wealthy.  "  If  ever 
a  woman  was  cherished  she  shall  be  ! 
If  ever  a  woman  was  happy  she  shall 
be  !  "  And  as  for  him,  if  he  had  done 
\vrong  to  win  her,  he  would  more 
than  compensate  it  afterwards.  In 
short,  he  had  been  for  more  than 
twenty  years  selling,  buying,  swap- 
ping, driving  every  conceivable  earth- 
ly bargain,  — so  now  he  was  propos- 
ing one  to  Heaven. 

At  hist  came  a  letter  in  which 
George  told  Susan  of  the  fatal  mur- 
rain among  his  sheep,  of  his  fever 
that  had  followed  immediately,  of  the 
further  losses  while  he  lay  ill,  and 
concluded  hy  saying  that  he  had  no 
right  to  tie  her  to  his  misfortunes,  and 
that  he  felt  it  would  be^more  manly  to 
set  her  free. 

When  he  read  this,  Meadows's  ex- 
ultation broke  all  bounds,  "  Ah  ha !  " 
cried  he,  "  is  it  come  to  that  at  last  ? 
"Well,  he  is  a  fine  fellow  after  all,  and 
looks  at  it  the  sensible  way,  and  if  I 
can  do  him  a  good  turn  in  business  I 
always  will." 

The  next  day  he  called  at  Gra<!s- 
mere.  Susan  met  him  all  smiles,  and 
was  more  cheerful  than  usual.  The 
watchful  man  was  delighted.  "  Come, 
Mv?  does  not  take  it  to  heart."  He 
did  not  fiuess  that  Susan  had  cried 
for  hours  and  hours  over  the  letter, 
and  then  had  sat  (piietly  down  and 
written  a  letter,  and  begged  George 
to  come  home  and  not  add  sejjaration 
to  their  other  misfortunes  ;  and  that 
it  was  this  decision,  and  having  acted 
upon  it,  that  had  made  her  cheerful. 


Meadows  argued  in  his  own  favor,  and 
now  made  sure  to  win. 

The  next  week  he  called  three  times 
at  Grassmere  instead  of  twice,  an(L 
asked  himself  how  much  longer  he 
must  wait  before  he  should  speak  out. 
Prudence  said,  "  A  little  more  pa- 
tience "  ;  and  so  he  still  hid  in  his  bo- 
som the  flame  that  burned  him  the 
deeper  for  this  unnatural  smothering. 
But  he  drank  deep  silent  draughts  of 
love,  and  revelled  in  the  bright  future 
of  his  passion. 

It  was  no  longer  hope,  it  was  cer- 
tainty. Susan  liked  him  ;  her  eye 
brightened  at  his  coming;  her  father 
was  in  his  power.  There  was  nothing 
between  them  but  the  distant  shadow 
of  a  rival;  sooner  or  later  she  must 
be  his.  So  passed  three  calm,  deli- 
cious weeks  away. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Meado\\'S  sat  one  day  in  his  study 
receiving  Crawley's  report. 

"  Old  Mr.  Merton  came  yesterday. 
I  made  difhculties  as  instructed.  Is 
to  come  to-morrow."    - 

"  He  shall  have  the  eight  hundred." 

"  That  makes  two  thousand  four 
hundred  ;  why,  his  whole  stock  won't 
cover  it. 

"  No ! " 

"  Don't  understand  it,  it  is  too  deep 
for  me.  What  is  the  old  gentleman 
doinjr  7  " 

"  Hunting  Will-o'-the-wisp.  Throw- 
ing it  away  in  speculations  that  are 
colored  bright  for  him  by  a  man  that 
wants  to  ruin  him." 

"  Aha  !  "  cackled  Crawley. 

"  And  do  him  no  harm." 

"  Augh  !  How  far  is  it  to.  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea,  sir,  if  you  please  ? 
I  'm  sure  you  know  ?  JNIr.  Levi  and 
you." 

"  Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  sud- 
denly turning  the  conversation,  "the 
world  calls  me  close-fisted,  have  you 
found  me  so  ?  " 

"  Liberal  as  running  water,  sir.    I 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


285 


sometimes  say  how  long  will  this  last 
before  such  a  great  man  breaks  Peter 
Crawley  and  flings  him  away  and 
takes  anotlier  1  "  and  Crawley  sighed. 
"  Then  your  game  is  to  make  your- 
self ni^ccssary  to  me." 

"I  \Vish  I  could/'  said  Peter,  with 
mock  candor.  "  Sir,"  he  crept  on, 
"  it  the  most  ardent  zeal,  if  punctual- 
ity, secrecy,  and  unscrupulous  lideli- 
ty  —  " 

"Hold  your  gammon!  Are  we 
M-riting  a  book  together  ?  Answer 
nie  this  in  English.  How  far  dare 
you  go  along  with  me  ?  " 

"  As  f;ir  as  your  purse  extends :  — 
only  —  " 

"Only  Avhati  Only  your  ther- 
mometer is  going  down  already,  I 
suppose." 

"  No,  sir,  but  what  I  mean  is,  I 
should  n't  like  to  do  anything  too 
bad." 

"  What  d'  ve  mean  by  too  bad  1 " 
"  Punishable  by  law." 
"It    is   not  your   conscience    you 
fear  then  ? "  asked  the  other,  gloom- 
ily- 

"  0  dear,  no,  sir,  only  the  law." 
"  I  envy   you.     There  is  but   one 
crime  punishable  by  law,  and  that  I 
shall  never  counsel  you  to." 

"  Oaly  one,  —  too  deep,  sir,  too 
deep.     Which  is  that  1 " 

"  The  crime  of  getting  found  out." 

"  What  a    great    man !    bow    far 

would  I  go  with  you  ?     To  the  end 

of  the  earth.     I  have  but  one  regret, 

sir." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 
"  That  I  am  not  thought  worthy  of 
your  coniidence.  That  after  so  many 
years  I  am  still  only  a  too  —  I  mean 
an  honored  instrument,  and  not  a 
hunihle  friend." 

"  Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  sol- 
emnly, "  let  well  alone.  Don't  ask 
my  confidence,  for  I  am  often  tempted 
to  give  it  you,  and  that  would  be  all 
oiae  as  if  I  put  the  blade  of  a  razor  in 
your  naked  hand." 

"  I  don't  care,  sir  !  You  are  up  to 
some  game  as  deep  as  a  coal-pit ;  and 
I  go  on  working  and  working  all  in 


the  dark.     I  'd  give  anything  to  be  in 
your  confidence." 

"  Anything  is  nothing ;  put  it  in 
figures,"  sneered  Meadows,  incredu- 
lously. 

"  1  '11  give  20  per  cent  off  all  you 
give  me  if  you  will  let  me  see  the 
bottom."* 

"  The  bottom  ?  " 

"The  reason,  sir,  —  the  motive  ! 
—  the  why  !  —  the  wherefore,  —  the 
what  it  is  all  to  end  in.  The  bot- 
tom !  " 

"  Why  not  say  you  would  like  to 
read  John  Meadows's  heart  ?  " 

"  Don't   be   angry,  sir ;    it  is  pre- 
sumption, but  I   can't  help  it.     De- 
duct 20  per  cent  for  so  great  a  honor." 
"  Why,  the  fool  is  in  earnest." 
"  He  is  ;  we  have  all  got  our  little 
vanity,  and  like  to  be  thought  worthy 
of  confidence." 
"Humph!" 

"  And  then  I  can't  sleep  for  puz- 
zling. Why  should  you  stop  every 
letter  that  comes  here  from  Australia. 
0,  bless  me,  how.  neglectful  I  am ; 
here  is  a  letter  from  there,  .just  come. 
To  think  of  me  bringing  it,  and  then 
forgetting." 

"  Give  it  me,  directly." 
"  There  it  is.  And  then,  why  on 
earth  are  we  ruining  old  Mr.  Merton 
without  benefiting  you  ?  and  you  seem 
so  friendly  with  him ;  and,  indeed, 
you  say  he  is  not  to  be  harmed,  — 
only  ruined  ;  it  makes  my  head  ache. 
Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Mead- 
ows, sir  1  What  is  wrong  ?  No  ill 
news,  I  hope.  I  wish  I  'd  never 
brought  the  letter." 

"  That  will  do,  Crawley,"  said 
Meadows,  faintly,  "you  may  go." 
Crawley  rose,  with  a  puzzled  air. 
"  Come  here  to-morrow  evening  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  you  shall  have  your 
wish.  All  the  worse  for  you,"  added 
he,  moodily.  "  All  the  wi^rse  for 
me.     Now  go,  without  one  word." 

Crawley  retired,  dumfounded.  He 
saw  the  iron  man  bad  received  some 
strange,  unexpected,  and  terrible 
blow  ;  but  for  a  moment  awe  sup- 
pressed curiosity,  and  he  went  oflf  ou 


286 


[T   IS   NKVEIl   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD. 


tiptoe,   sayinj^  almost   in   a  whisper, 
"  To-morrow  nij,^ht  at  nine,  sir." 

Mejulows  spread  (ieorge's  letter  on 
the  tabic,  and  leaned  on  Ids  two  hands 
over  it. 

The  letter  was  written  some  weeks 
after  the  last  despondin*,'  oi>^.  It  was 
full  of  modest,  hut  warm  and  buoyant 
exultation.  Heaven  had  been  very 
good  to  Susan  and  him.  Robinson 
had  discovered  gold  ;  gold  in  such 
abundance  and  quality  as  beat  even 
California.  The  thousand  pounds, 
so  late  despaired  of,  was  now  a  cer 
tainty.  Six  months'  work,  with  av- 
erage good  fortune,  would  do  it. 
Robinson  said  five  thousand  apiece 
was  the  least  they  ought  to  bring 
home;  but  how  could  he  (George) 
wait  so  long  as  that  would  take ! 
"  And,  Susan  dear,  if  anything  could 
make  this  wonderful  luck  sweeter,  it 
is  to  think  that  1  owe  it  to  you  and  to 
your  goodness.  It  was  jou  that  gave 
Tom  the  letter,  and  bade  me  be  kind 
to  liim,  and  keep  him  by  me  for  his 
^'ood  ;  he  has  repaid  me  by  making 
ns  two  ntan  and  wife,  please  God. 
See  what  a  web  life  is  !  Tom  and  I 
often  talk  of  this.  But  Tom  says  it 
is  Parson  Eden  I  have  to  thank  for 
it,  and  the  lessons  he  learned  in  t!ie 
prison  ;  but  I  tell  him  if  he  goes  so 
far  backas  that,  he  should  go  further, 
and  thank  Farmer  Meadows,  for  he 
't  was  that  sent  Tom  to  the  prison, 
where  he  was  converted,  and  became 
as  honest  a  fellow  as  any  in  the  world, 
and  a  friend  to  your  George  as  true 
as  steel." 

The  letter  concluded  as  it  began 
with  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  bidding 
Susan  expect  his  happy  return  in  six 
months  after  this  letter.  In  short,  the 
letter  was  one  "  Hurrah  !  "  tempered 
with  simple  piety  and  love. 

Meadows  turned  cold  as  death  in 
reading  it :  at  the  part  where  Farmer 
Meadows  was  referred  to  as  the  first 
link  in  the  golden  chain,  lie  dashed  it 
to  the  ground  and  raised  liis  foot  to 
trample  on  it,  but  forbore,  lest  he 
should  dirty  a  thing  that  must  go  to 
Susau. 


Then  he  walked  the  room  in  great 
agitation. 

"Too  late,  George  Fiehling,"  he 
cried  aloud,  —  'too  late;  I  cin't 
shift  my  heart  like  a  weailicrcock  to 
suit  the  chantres  in  your  luck.  You 
have  been  feeding  me  with  hopes  till 
I  can't  live  without  them.  1  never 
longed  for  a  thing  yet  but  what  I  got 
it,  and  I  '11  have  this  though  1  tram- 
ple a  hundred  George  Fieldings  dead 
on  my  way  to  it.     Now  let  me  think." 

He  pondcreti  deeply,  his  great 
brows  knitted  and  lowered.  For  full 
half  an  hour  invention  and  resource 
j)Oured  scheme  after  scheme  through 
that  teeming  brain,  and  prudence  and 
knowledge  of  the  world  sat  in  severe 
and  cool  judgment  on  each  in  turn, 
and  dismissed  the  vi>ionary  ones.  At 
last  the  deep  brow  began  lo  relax,  and 
the  eye  to  kindle;  and  when  he  rose 
to  ring  the  bell  his  face  was  a  sign- 
post with  Eureka  written  on  it  in 
Nature's  vivid  handwriting.  In  that 
hour  he  had  hatched  a  plot  worthy  of 
Machiavel,  —  a  plot  ( oinplcx  yet  clear. 
A  servant-girl  answered  the  l)ell. 

"  Tell  David  to  saddle  Rachael  di- 
rectly." 

And  in  five  minutes  Mr.  IMeadows, 
with  a  shirt,  a  razor,  a  comb,  and  a 
map  of  Australia,  was  galloping  by 
cross  lanes  to  the  nearest  railway 
station."^  There  he  telegraphed  Mr. 
Clinton  to  meet  him  at  Peel's  Coffee- 
House  at  two  o'clock. 

The  message  flashed  up  to  town 
like  lightning.  The  man  followed  it 
slowly  like  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Meadows  found  Mr.  Clinton  at 
Peel's. 

'•  Mr.  Clinton,  I  want  a  man  of  in- 
telligence to  be  at  my  service  for 
twenty  four  hours.  I  give  you  the 
first  offer." 

Mr.  Clinton  replied  that  really  he 
had  so  many  irons  in  the  fire  that 
twenty-four  hours  — 


"  IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


287 


Meadows  put  a  fifty-pound  note  on 
the  table. 

"  Will  all  your  irons  iron  you  out 
fiftv  pounds  as  flat  as  that  1  " 

'■'  Why,  hem  l" 

"  No,  nor  five.  Come,  sir,  sharp  is 
the  word.  Can  you  be  liiy  servant 
for  twenty-four  hours  for  fifty  pounds  ? 
yes  or  no  !  " 

"  Why,  this  is  dramatic,  —  yes  ! " 

"  It  is  half  past  two.  Between  this 
and  four  o'clock  I  must  buy  a  few 
hundred  acres  in  Australia,  a  fair  bar- 
gain." 

"  Humph  !  Well,  that  can  be  done. 
I  know  an  old  fellow  that  has  land  in 
every  part  of  the  globe." 

"  Take  me  to  him." 

In  ten  minutes  they  were  in  one 
of  those  dingy  narrow  alleys  in  the 
city  of  London,  that  look  the  abode 
of  decent  poverty,  and  they  could  af- 
ford to  buy  Grosvenor  Square  for 
their  stables  ;  and  Mr.  Clinton  intro- 
duced his  friend  to  a  blear-eyed  mer- 
chant in  a  large  room  papered  with 
maps  ;  the  windows  were  incrusted  ; 
mustard  and  cress  might  have  been 
grown  from  them.  Beauty  in  clean 
linen  collar  and  wristbands  would 
have  shone  here  with  intolerable  lus- 
tre;  but  the  blear-eyed  merchant  did 
not  come  out  bright  by  contrast ;  he 
had  taken  the  local  color.  You 
could  see  him  and  that  was  all.  He 
was  like  a  partridge  in  a  furrow.  A 
snnfF-colored  man  ;  coat  rusty  all  but 
the  collar,  and  that  greasy ;  poor  as 
its  color  was,  his  linen  had  thought  it 
worth  emulating  ;  blackish  nails,  cot- 
ton wipe,  little  bald  place  on  head, 
but  did  n't  shine  for  the  same  reason 
the  windows  did  n't.  Mr.  Clinton  ap- 
jjroached  this  "  dhirrrty  money,"  this 
rusty  coin,  in  the  spirit  of  flunkyism. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  reveren- 
tial tone,  "  this  party  is  disposed  to 
purchase  a  few  hundred  acres  in  the 
colonies." 

Mr.  Rich  looked  up  from  his  desk 
and  pointed  with  a  sweep  of  his  pen 
to  the  walls. 

"  There  are  the  maps :  the  red 
crosses  are  my  land.     They  are  num- 


bered. Refer,  to  the  margin  of  map, 
and  you  will  find  the  acres  and  the  lati- 
tude and  longirude  calculated  to  a 
fraction.  When  you  have  settle  I  in 
what  part  of  the  world  you  buy,  come 
to  me  again  ;  time  is  gold." 

And  the  blear-eyed  merchant  wrote 
and  sealed  and  filed  and  took  no  no- 
tice of  his  customers.  They  found 
red  crosses  in  several  of  the  United 
States,  in  Canada,  in  Borneo,  in  near- 
ly all  the  colonies,  and  as  luck  would 
have  it  they  found  one  small  cross 
within  thirty  miles  of  Bathurst,  and 
the  margin  described  it  as  five  hun- 
dred acres.  Mr.  Meadows  stepped 
towards  the  desk. 

"  I  have  found  a  small  property 
near  Bathursr." 

"  Bathurst  ?  where  is  that  1  " 

"  In  Australia." 

"SuitV 

"  If  the  price  suits.  What  is  the 
price,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  books  must  tell  us  that." 

Mr.  Rich  stretched  out  his  arm  and 
seized  a  ledger,  and  gave  it  Meadows. 

"  I  have  Ijut  one  price  for  land,  and 
that  is  five  per  cent  profit  on  my  out- 
lay. Book  will  tell  you  what  it  stands 
me  in,  you  can  add  five  per  cent  to 
that,  and  take  the  land  away  or  leave 
it." 

With  this  curt  explanation,  Mr. 
Rich  resumed  his  work. 

"  It  seems  you  gave  five  shillings 
an  acre,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Clinton. 
"  Five  times  five  hundred  shillings, 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds. 
Interest  at  five  per  cent,  six  pounds 
five." 

"  When  did  I  buy  it  1 "  asked  Mr. 
Rich. 

"  O,  when  did  you  buy  it,  sir?  " 

Mr.  Rich  snatched  the  book  a  little 
pettishly,  and  gave  it  to  Meadows. 

"  You  make  the  calculation,"  said 
he  ;  "  the  figures  are  all  there.  Come 
to  me  when  you  have  made  it." 

The  land  had  been  bought  twenty- 
seven  years  and  some  months  ago. 
Mr.  Meadows  made  the  calculation  in 
a  turn  of  the  hand  and  announced  it. 
Rich  rang  a  hand  bell.  Another  snuffy 


288 


IT   IS   l^EVER   TOO   LATE   TO   .MLND." 


flexure  with  a  stoop  and  a  bald  head 
and  a  pen  came  ihroii-ira  curtain. 

"  Jones,  verify  tliat  calcidation." 

"  i\Miny,  half  -  penny,  two -pence, 
pennf,  half-penny,  two-pence.  Mum, 
mum  !     Halfpenny  wron<r,  .sir." 

"  There  is  a  half-penny  wronf^  !  " 
cried  Mr.  llich  to  Meadows,  with  a 
most  injured  air. 

"  Tiiere  is,  sir,"  said  Meadows, 
"  but  it  is  on  the  right  side  for  you. 
I  thouirht  I  would  make  it  even  mon- 
ey against  myself." 

"  There  are  only  two  ways,  wrong 
and  right,"  was  the  reply.  "  Jones, 
make  it  right.  There,  that  is  the 
price  for  the  next  half-hour ;  after 
business  hours  to-day  add  a  day's  in- 
terest;  and,  Jones,  —  if  he  does  not 
buy,  write  your  calculation  into  the 
book  with  date, — save  time,  next 
customer  comes  for  it." 

"  You  need  not  trouble,  Mr.  Jones," 
said  Meadows.  "  I  take  the  land. 
Here  is  two  hundred  and  iifty  pounds, 
—  that  is  rather  more  than  half  the 
purchase-money." 

"  Jones,  —  count." 

"  When  can  I  have  the  deeds  ?  " 

"  Ten,  to-morrow." 

"  Receipt  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,"  said  Meadows,  falling  into 
the  other's  key. 

"  Jones,  write  receipt,  —  two  five 
naught." 

"  Write  me  an  agreement  to  sell," 
proposed  Meadows. 

"  No,  you  write  it ;  I  '11  sign  it. 
Jones,  enter  transaction  in  the  books. 
Have  you  anything  to  do,  young  gen- 
tleman ?  "  addressing  Clinton. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  draw  this  pen  through  the 
two  crosses  on  the  map  and  margin. 
Good  morning,  gentlemen." 

And  the  money-making  machine 
rose  and  dismissed  them,  as  he  had 
received  them,  with  a  short,  sharp 
business  rnntic. 

Ye  fair,  who  turn  a  shop  head  over 
heels,  maul  sixty  yards  of  ribbon  and 
buy  six.  which  being  sent  home  insa- 
tiable becomes  your  desire  to  change 
it  for  other  six  which  you  hud  fairly, 


closely,  and  with  all  the  powers  of 
your  mind  compared  with  it  during 
the  seventy  miimtes  the  purchase  oc- 
cupied, let  me  respectfully  inform  you 
that  the  above  business  took  just  eight 
minutes,  and  that  "  when  it  was  done, 
'twas  done."     {^Shakespeare.) 

"  You  have  given  too  much,  my 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

"  Come  to  my  inn,"  was  all  the  re- 
ply. "  Tliis  is  the  easy  part,  the 
game  is  behind." 

After  dinner.  "  Now,"  said  Mead- 
ows, "  business  :  do  you  know  any  re- 
spectable firm  disposed  towards  specu- 
lation in  mines  ^  " 

"Plenty." 

"  Any  that  arc  looking  towards 
gold  ?  "' 

"  Wh)'^,  no.  Gold  is  a  metal  that 
ranks  very  low  in  speculation.  Stoj) ! 
yes,  I  know  one  tip  top  house  that  has 
gone  a  little  way  in  it,  but  they  have 
burned  their  lingers,  so  they  will  go 
no  further." 

"  You  are  wrong;  they  will  be  ea- 
ger to  go  on,  —  first  to  recover  the 
loss  on  that  article  of  account,  and 
next  to  show  their  enemies,  and  in 
particular  such  of  them  as  are  tluir 
IViends,  that  they  did^n't  blunder. 
You  will  go  to  them  to-morrow  and 
ask  if  they  can  allow  you  a  commis- 
sion for  bringing  them  an  Australian 
settler  on  whose  land  gold  has  been 
found." 

"  Now,  my  good  sir,"  began  i\Ir. 
Clinton,  a  little  superciliously, ."  that 
is  not  tlif  way  to  gain  the  ear  of  such 
a  firm  as  that.  The  better  way  will 
be  for  you  to  show  me  your  wliole 
design  and  leave  me  to  devise  the 
best  means  for  carrying  it  into  effect." 

Up  to  this  moment  Meadows  had 
treated  Mr.  Clinton  with  a  marked 
deference  as  from  yeoman  to  gentle- 
man. The  latter  therefore  was  not  a 
little  surprised  when  the  other  turned 
sharp  on  him  thus  :  — 

"  This  won't  do  ;  we  must  under- 
stand one  another.  You  think  you 
are  the  man  of  talent  and  I  am  the 
clodhopper.  Think  so  to-morrow 
night;  but  for  the  next   twenty-four 


"IT   IS   KEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


289 


"jours  you  must  keep  that  notion  out 
of  your  head,  or  you  will  hitch  my 
si-heuK'S  and  lose  your  titty  pounds. 
Look  here,  sir.  You  l)eijat>  hfe  with 
t-n  tliousaud  pounds;  you  have  been 
all  your  life  iryinij;  all  you  know  to 
iloul)le  it, — aiid  where  is  it?  The 
pounds  are  pence  and  the  pence  on 
thij  road  to  farthings.  I  started  with 
a  wliip  and  a  smock-frock  and  this," 
touchiuLr  his  head,  "and  I  have  fifty 
iliousand  ]iounds  in  government  secu- 
riries.  Which  is  the  able  man  of 
tliese  two,  —  the  bankrupt  that  talks 
like  an  angel  and  loses  the  game,  or 
the  wise  man  that  quietly  wins  it  and 
pockets  what  all  the  earth  are  grap- 
pling with  him  for  1  So  much  for 
that.  And  now  which  is  master, — 
the  one  who  pays  or  the  one  who  is 
paid  ?  I  am  not  a  liberal  man,  sir,  I 
am  a  man  that  looks  at  every  penny. 
I  don't  give  fifty  pounds.  1  sell  it. 
That  fifty  pounds  is  the  price  of  your 
vanity  for  twenty-four  hours.  I  take 
a  day's  loan  of  it.  You  are  paid  fifty 
pounds  per  diem  to  see  that  there  is 
more  brains  in  my  little  finger  than 
in  all  your  carcass.  See  it  for  twen- 
ty-four hours  or  I  won't  fork  out,  or 
don't  see  it  but  obey  me  as  if  you  did 
see  it.  You  sha'  n't  utter  a  syllable  or 
move  an  inch  that  I  have  not  set  down 
for  you.  Is  this  too  hard  ?  then  accept 
ten  pounds  forto-day's  work,  and  let  us 
])art  before  you  bungle  your  master's 
g  ime  as  you  have  done  your  own." 

Mr.  Clinton  was  red  with  mortified 
vanity,  but  forty  pounds  !  He  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"  This  is  amusing,"  said  he.  "  Well, 
sir,  I  will  act  as  if  you  were  Solomon 
and  I  nobody.  Of  course  under  these 
circumstances  no  responsibility  rests 
with  me." 

"  You  are  wasting  my  time  with 
your  silly  prattle,"  said  Meadows,  very 
sternly.  "  Man  alive !  you  never 
made  fifty  pounds  cash  since  you  were 
calved.  It  comes  to  your  hand  to-day, 
and  even  then  you  must  chatter  and 
jaw  instead  of  saying  yes  and  closing 
your  fingers  on  it  like  a  vice." 

*'  Yes  !  "  siiouted  Clinton ;  '*  there." 
^3 


"  Take  that  quire,"  said  Meadows, 
sharply.  "  Now  I  '11  dictate  the  very 
words  yon  are  to  say  ;  learn  them  off 
by  heart  and  don't  add  a  syllable  or 
subtract  one  or  —  no  fifty  pounds." 

Meadows  being  a  general  by  nature 
(not  Horse-Guards)  gave  Clinton  in- 
structions down  to  the  minutest  mat- 
ters of  detail,  and  he  whose  life  had 
been  spent  in  proving  he  would  suc- 
ceed —  and  faiUng  —  began  to  sus- 
pect the  man  who  had  always  suc- 
ceeded might  perhaps  have  had  some- 
thing- to  do  with  his  success. 

Next  morning  well  primed  by  Mead- 
ows, Mr.  Clinton  presented  himself  to 
Messrs.  Bradthwaite  and  Stevens  and 
requested  a  private  audience.  He  in- 
quired whether  they  were  disposed  to  al- 
lowhini  a  commission  if  hewould  intro- 
duce them  to  an  Australian  settler  on 
whose  land  gold  had  been  discovered. 

The  two  members  of  the  firm  looked 
at  one  another.  After  a  pause  one 
of  them  said  :  — 

"  Commission  really  must  depend 
on  how  such  a  thing  turned  out.  They 
had  little  confidence  in  such  state- 
ments, but  would  see  the  settler  and 
put  some  questions  to  him." 

Clinton  went  out  and  introduced 
Meadows.  This  happened  just  as 
Meadows  had  told  him  it  would. 
Outside  the  door  Mr.  Meadows  sud- 
denly put  on  a  rustic  carriage  and  so 
came  in  and  imitated  natural  shyness 
with  great  skill ;  he  had  to  be  twice 
asked  to  sit  down. 

The  firm  cross-examined  him.  He 
told  them  gold  had  been  discovered 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  his  land, 
thirty  miles  from  Bathnrst;  that  his 
friends  out  there  had  said  go  home  to 
England  and  they  will  give  you  a 
heavy  price  for  your  land  now ;  that 
he  did  hope  to  get  a  heavy  price,  and 
so  be  able  to  live  at  home, — didn't 
want  to  go  out  there  again ;  tliat  the 
land  was  worth  money,  —  for  there 
was  no  more  to  be  sold  in  tliat  part ; 
government  land  all  round  and  they 
would  n't  sell,  for  he  had  tried  them 
(liis  sharp  eye  had  seen  this  faci 
marked  on  Mr.  Rich's  map). 


290 


"IT  IS  xi:vi:k  too  latk  to  .mkxd.' 


"  Well,"  said  the  senior  partner, 
"  \vc  have  information  that  jji:ol(l  has 
been  discovered  in  that  district;  tlie 
report  came  here  two  days  a<:o  by 
the  '  Anne  Amelia.'  But  the  account 
is  not  distinct  as  yet.  We  do  not 
hear  on  whose  land  it  is  found  if  at 
all.  1  presume  you  have  not  seen 
gold  found." 

"Could  I  afford  to  leave  my  busi- 
ness out  there  and  come  homo  —  on 
a  speculation  ? " 

The  eyes  of  the  firm  began  to  glit- 
ter. 

"  Have  you  got  any  gold  to  show 
us?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,  sir ;  only 
what  they  chucked  me  for  giving 
them  a  good  dinner.  But  they  are 
shovelling  it  about  like  grains  of 
wheat,  I  assure  you." 

The  firm  beca'me  impatient. 

"  Show  us  what  they  gave  you  as 
the  price  of  a  dinner  (  " 

Meadows  dug  into  a  deep  pocket, 
and  chased  into  a  corner,  and  caught, 
and  produced,  a  little  nugget  of  quartz 
and  gold  worth  about  four  pounds, 
also  another  of  somewhat  less  value. 

"  They  don't  look  handsome,  gents," 
said  he,  "  but  you  may  see  tlie  stuff 
glitter  here  aiul  there ;  and  here  is 
some  of  the  dust.  I  had  to  buy  this, 
gave  them  fifty  shillings  an  ounce  for 
it.  I  wish  1  had  bought  a  hundred- 
weight, for  they  tell  me  it  is  worth 
three  pound  ten  here." 

"  May  we  inspect  these  speci- 
mens ?  " 

"  Why  not,  sir?  I'll  trust  it  with 
you  :  1  would  n't  with  everybody 
though." 

The  partners  retired  with  thf'  gold, 
tested  it  with  muriatic  acid,  weighed 
it,  and  after  a  short,  excited  interview 
one  of  them  brought  it  back,  and 
asked  with  great  nonchalance  the 
price  of  the  land. 

Meadows  hung  his  head. 

"  Twenty  thousand  pounds." 

"  Twenty  thousand  pounds  !  "  and 
the  partner  laughed  in  his  fiicc. 

"  I  don't  Avonder  you  are  surprise.d, 
sir.     1  wonder  at  "myself  asking  so 


much.  Why,  before  this  if  you  had 
offered  me  five  thousand,  1  would 
have  jumped  into  your  arms,  as  the  ' 
saying  is  ;  but  they  all  say  I  ought  w 
to  have  twenty  thousand,  and  they 
have  talked  to  me  till  they  make  me 
greedy." 

The  partner  retired  and  consulted, 
and  the  firm  ended  by  ottering  tea 
thousand. 

"  I  am  right  down  ashamed  to  say 
no,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  I  suppose 
I  must  not  take  it." 

The  firm  undertook  to  prove  that  it 
was  a  magnificent  offer.  Meadows 
ottered  no  resistance,  he  thought  so 
too ;  but  he  must  not  take  it,  every- 
body told  him  it  was  worth  more.  At 
last  when  his  hand  was  on  the  door 
they  ottered  him  twelve  thousand  live 
hundred. 

He  begged  to  consider  of  it. 

No!  they  were  peremptory.  If  he 
was  off,  they  were  off. 

He  looked  this  way  and  that  way 
with  a  frightened  air. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  sir?"  said  he, 
helplessly,  to  Clinton,  and  nudged 
him  secretly. 

"  Take  it,  and  think  yourself  very 
lucky,"  said  that  gentleman,  exchang- 
ing a  glance  with  the  firm. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  say  so,  I  will. 
You  shall  have  it,  gentlemen,  live 
hundred  acres  in  two  lots,  —  400  and 
1(10." 

Clinton,  acting  on  his  secret  instruc- 
tions, now  souglit  a  private  interview 
with  the  firm. 

"  I  am  to  have  a  commission,  gen- 
tlemen ?  " 

"  Yes  !  fifty  pounds ;  but  really  we 
can  hardly  afiind  it." 

"  Well,  then,  as  you  give  mc  an  in- 
terest in  it,  J  sav,  —  pin  him." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Don't  yon  see  he  is  one  of  those 
soft  fellows  who  listen  to  everybody. 
If  he  goes  away,  and  they  laugh  at 
liinj  fur  tiot  getting  more  for  it,  I 
really  could  liardly  answer  for  liis 
ever  coming  back  here." 
The  firm  came  in  cheerfully. 
"Well,  Mr.  — Mr." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


291 


"Not  Mr.,  sir.  Crawley,  —  plain 
John  Crawley." 

"  We  will  terminate  this  affair  with 
you.  We  will  have  a  contract  of  sale 
drawn  up  and  make  you  an  advance. 
When  can  you  give  us  the  title 
deeds  ?  " 

"  In  a  couple  of  hours,  if  the  lawyer 
is  at  home." 

"  By  the  by,  you  will  not  object  to 
draw  upon  us  at  three  months  for 
one  half  of  the  money." 

"  No,  sir.  I  should  say  by  the 
look  of  yon  you  were  as  good  as  the 
bank." 

"  The  other  half  by  check  in  two 
hours," 

The  parties  signed  the  contract  re- 
spectively. 

Then  Meadows  and  Clinton  went 
off  to  the  Five-per-Center,  completed 
with  him,  got  tlie  title  deeds,  brought 
them,  received  check  and  Accepted 
draft.  Clinton,  by  Meadows's  advice, 
went  in  and  dunned  for  his  commis- 
sion then  and  there,  and  got  it,  and 
the  confederates  went  off  and  took  & 
hasty  dinner  together.  After  dinner 
they  settled. 

"As  you  showed  me  how  to  get 
this  commission  out  of  them,  it  be- 
longs to  you,"  said  Clinton,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  It  does,  sir.  Give  it  to  me.  I  re- 
turn it  to  you,  sir ;  do  me  the  favor  to 
accept  it." 

"  You  are  very  generous,  Mr.  Mead- 
ows." 

"And  here  is  the  other  fifty  you 
have  earned." 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  sir.  Are 
you  satisfied  with  the  day's  work  ?  " 

"Amply,  sir.  Your  skill  and  in- 
genuity brought  us  through  trium- 
phant," said  Meadows,  resuming  the 
deferential,  since  he  risked  nothing  by 
it  now. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  manarred  it  pretty 
well.  By  the  by,  that  gold  you  showed 
them,  was  it  really  gold  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Oh  !  because  I  thought  —  " 

"  No,  sir,  you  did  not.  A  man  of 
your  ability  knows  I  would  not  risk 


ten  thousand  pounds  for  want  of  a 
purchase  I  could  not  lose  ten  shillings 
by.     Ore  is  not  a  fancy  artit-le." 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  yes,  very  true  ;  no,  of 
course  not.  One  question  more.  Where 
did  the  gold  come  from  ?  " 

"  California." 

"  But,  I  mean,  how  did  you  get 
it?" 

"  I  bought  it  out  of  a  shop  window 
those  two  knowing  ones  pass  twice 
everv  dav  of  their  lives." 

"Ha!' ha!  ha!" 

"  You  pass  it  oftener  than  that,  sir. 
Excuse  me,  sir ;  I  must  catch  the 
train.  But  one  word  before  I  go.  My 
name  must  never  be  mentioned  in  this 
business," 

"  Very  well ;  it  never  shall  trans- 
pire, upon  my  honor." 

Meadows  felt  pretty  safe.  As  he 
put  on  his  great-coat  he  thought  to 
himself:  "When  the  story  is  blown 
and  laughed  over,  this  man's  vanity 
will  keep  my  name  out  of  it.  He 
won't  miss  a  chance  of  telling  the 
world  how  clever  he  is.  My  game  is 
to  pass  for  honest,  not  for  clever,  no, 
thank  you," 

"  Good  by,  sir,"  was  his  last  word. 
"  It  is  you  for  hoodwinking  them.*'    ' 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  Good  by,  farmer  " 
(in  a  patronizing  tone). 

Soon  after  this,  Meadows  was  in  a 
corner  of  a  railway-carriage,  twelve 
thousand  four  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  in  his  pocket,  and  the  second 
part  of  his  great  complex  scheme 
boiling  and  bubbling  in  his  massive 
head.  There  he  sat  silent  as  the 
grave,  his  hat  drawn  over  his  power- 
ful brows  that  were  knitted  all  the 
journey  by  one  who  never  knitted 
them  in  vain. 

He  reached  home  at  eight,  and  sat 
down  to  his  desk  and  wrote  for  more 
than  half  an  hour.  Then  he  scaled 
up  the  paper,  and  when  Crawley 
came,  he  found  him  walking  up  and 
down  the  room.  At  a  silent  gesture, 
Crawley  took  a  chair  and  sat  quiver- 
ing with  curiosity.  Meadows  walked 
in  deep  thought. 

"  You    demanded    my  confidence. 


292 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


It  is  a  flanjrerous  secret,  for,  once  you 
know  it,  you  must  serve  mo  with  red- 
hot  zeal,  or  be  my  enemy  and  be 
crushed  out  of  life  like  a  blind-worm, 
or  an  adder,  ]*eter  Crawley." 

"  I  know  that,  dear  sir,"  assented 
Peter,  ruefully. 

"  First,  how  far  have  you  guessed  1  " 

"  I  guess  Mr.  Levi  is  somehow 
against  us," 

"  He  is,"  replied  Meadows,  careless- 
ly- 

"  Then  that  is  a  bad  job.  He  will 
beat  us.     He  is  as  cnnning  as  a  fox." 

Meadows  looked  up  contemptuous- 
ly ;  but  as  he  could  not  afford  to  let 
such  a  sneak  as  Crawley  think  him 
anything  short  of  invincible,  he  said 
coolly,  "  He  is,  and  I  have  measured 
cunning  with  a  fox." 

"You  have?  That  must  have  been 
a  tight  match." 

"  A  fox  used  to  take  my  chickens 
one  hard  winter ;  an  old  fox  cautious 
and  sly  as  the  Jew  you  rate  so  hi<rh. 
The  men  sat  up  jvith  gunsYor  him,  — 
no  ;  a  keeper  set  traps  in  a  triangle 
for  him,  —  no.  He  had  the  eye  of  a 
hawk,  the  ear  of  a  hare,  and  his  own 
nose.  He  would  have  the  chickens, 
and  he  would  not  get  himself  into 
trouble.  The  women  complained  to 
me  of  the  fox.  I  turned  a  ferret  loose 
into  the  rabbit-hutch,  and  in  half  a 
minute  there  was  as  nice  a  young  rab- 
bit dead  as  ever  you  saw." 

"  Lookee  there  now,"  cried  Craw- 
ley. 

"  I  choked  the  ferret  off,  but  never 
touched  the  rabbit.  I  took  the  rabbit 
with  a  pair  of  tongs  ;  the  others  had 
handled  their  baits  and  pug  crept 
round  'em  and  nosed  the  trick.  I 
poured  twenty  drops  of  croton  oil  into 
the  little  hole  ferret  had  made  in  bun- 
ny's head,  and  I  dropped  him  in  the 
grass  near  pug's  track.  Next  morn- 
ing rabliit  had  been  drawn  about 
twenty  yards  and  the  hole  in  his 
head  was  three  times  as  big.  Pug 
went  the  nearest  way  to  blood  ;  went 
in  at  ferret's  liole.     I  knew  he  would." 

"  Yes,  sir !  yes  !  yes  !  yes  !  and 
there  lay  the  fox." 


"  No  signs  of  him.  Then  I  said  : 
'  Go  to  the  nearest  water.  Croton 
oil  makes  'em.dry.'  They  went  along 
the  brook,  —  and  on  the  very  bank 
there  lay  an  old  dog-fox  blown  up 
like  a  bladder,  as  big  as  a  wolf  and  as 
dead  as  a  herring  :  now  for  the  Jew. 
Look  at  that "  ;  and  he  threw  him  a 
paper. 

"  Why,  this  is  the  judgment  on 
which  I*  arrested  Will  Fielding,  and 
here  is  the  acceptance." 

"  Levi  bought  them  to  take  the 
man  out  of  my  power.  He  left  them 
with  old  Cohen.  I  have  got  them 
again,  you  see,  and  got  young  Field- 
ing in  my  power  spite  of  his  foxy 
friend." 

"  Capital,  sir,  capital ! "  cried  the  ad- 
miring Crawley.  He  then  looked  at 
the  I'econquered  documents.  "  Ah  !  " 
said  he,  spitefully,  "howl  wish  I 
could  alter  one  of  these  names,  only 
one ! " 

"  What  d'  ye  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I'd  give  fifty  pound 
(if  I  had  it)  if  it  was  but  that  brute 
George  Fielding  that  was  in  our 
power  instead  of  this  fool  William." 

Meadows  opened  his  eyes  :  "  Why  ?" 

"  Because  he  put  an  affront  upon 
me,"  was  the  somewhat  sulky  reply. 

"  What  was  that?  " 

"  O,  no  matter,  sir!  " 

"  But  it  is  matter.  Tell  me.  I 
am  that  man's  enemy." 

"  Then  I  am  in  luck.  You  are  just 
the  enemy  I  wish  him." 

"  What  was  the  affront  1  '* 

"  He  called  me  a  pettifogger." 

"O,  is  that  all?" 

"  No.  He  discharged  me  from  vis- 
iting his  premises." 

"  That  was  not  very  polite." 

"  And  threatened  to  horsewhip  me 
next  time  I  came  there." 

"  O,  is  that  where  the  shoe  pinch- 
es ?" 

"No,  it  is  notl"  cried  Crawley, 
almost  in  a  shriek  ;  "  but  he  altered 
his  mind,  and  did  horsewhip  me  then 
and  there.     Curse  him  !  " 

Meadows  smiled  grimly.  He  saw 
his  advantage.     "  Crawley,"  said  he. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


293 


quickly,  "  he  shall  rue  the  day  he  lift- 
ed his  hand  over  you.  You  want  to 
sec  to  the  hottom  of  me." 

"  O  Mr.  Meadows,  that  is  too  far  for 
the  naked  eye  to  see,"  was  the  de- 
spondent reply. 

"  Not  when  it  suits  my  hook.  I  am 
going  to  keep  my  promise  and  show 
you  my  heart." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Listen  and  hear  the  secret  of  my 
life.     Are  you  listening  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think,  sir  ?  "  was 
the  tremulous  answer. 

"  I  — love  —  Miss  — Merton  "  ;  and 
for  once  his  eyes  sunk  before  Craw- 
ley's. 

"  Sir !  you  —  love  —  a  —  woman  1 " 

"  Not  as  libertines  love,  nor  as  boys 
flirt  and  pass  on.  Heaven  have  mercy 
on  me,  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul  and  brain  !  I  love  her  with  more 
force  than   such  as  you  can  hate !  " 

"  The  deuce  you  do  !  " 

"  I  love  the  sweetheart  —  ot  the 
man  —  who  lashed  you  —  like  a  dog." 

Crawley  winced  and  rubbed  his 
hands. 

"  And  your  fortune  is  made  if  you 
help  me  to  win  her." 

Crawley  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Old  Merton  has  promised  the 
woman  I  love  to  this  George  Fielding, 
if  he  comes  back  with  a  thousand 
pounds."     In 

"  Don't  you  be  frightened,  sir  ;  that 
he  will  never  do." 

"Will  he  not?     Read  this  letter." 

"  Ah  !  the  letter  that  put  you  out  so. 
Let  me  see  —  Mum  !  mum  !  Found 
gold.  Plieugh!  Pheugh!  Pheeeugh!!" 

"  Crawley,  most  men  reading  that 
letter  would  have  given  in  then  and 
there,  and  not  fought  against  such 
luck  as  this.  I  only  said  to  myself, 
"  Then  it  will  cost  me  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  win  the  day."  Well, 
between  yesterday  eleven  forenoon 
and  this  hour  I  made  the  ten  thousand 
pounds." 

He  told  him  briefly  how, 

"  Beautiful,  sir  !  beautiful  !  What, 
did  you  make  the  ten  thousand  out  of 
your  own  rival's  letter  ?  " 


"  Yes,  I  taxed  the  enemy  for  the 
expenses  of  the  war." 

"  O  Mr.  Meadows,  what  a  fool,  what 
a  villain  I  was  to  think  Mr.  Levi  was 
as  great  a  man  as  you  !  I  must  have 
been  under  a  hallucination." 

"  Crawley,  the  day  that  John  and 
Susan  Meadows  walk  out  of  church 
man  and  wife  I  put  a  thousand 
pounds  into  your  hand  and  set  you 
up  in  any  business  you  like  ;  in  any 
honest  business,  for  from  that  day  our 
underhand  dealings  must  end.  The 
husband  of  that  angel  must  never 
grind  the  poor,  or  wrong  a  living 
creature.  If  Heaven  consents  to  my 
being  happy  in  this  way,  the  least  I 
can  do  is  to  walk  straight  and  straight- 
forward the  rest  of  my  days,  and  I  will, 
s'help  me  God." 

"  That  is  fair.  I  knew  you  were  a 
great  man,  but  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  such  a  good  one." 

"  Crawley,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
sudden  gloomy  misgiving,  "  I  am  try- 
ing to  cheat  the  Devil.  I  fear  no  man 
can  do  that "  ;  and  he  hung  his  head. 

"  No  ordinary  man,  sir,"  replied 
the  parasite,  "  but  your  skill  has  no 
bounds.  Your  plan,  sir,  at  onpe, 
that  I  may  co-operate  and  not  thwart 
your  great  skill  through  ignorance." 

"  My  plan  has  two  hands  :  one 
must  work  here,  the  other  a  great 
many  miles  from  here.  If  I  could 
but  cut  myself  in  two,  all  would  be 
well ;  but  I  can't ;  I  must  be  one 
hand,  you  the  other.  /  work  thus  : 
Post-office  here  is  under  my  thumb. 
I  stop  all  letters  from  him  to  her. 
Presently  comes  a  letter  from  Aus- 
tralia telling  among  pork,  grains, 
etc.,  how  George  Fielding  has  made 
his  fortune  and  married  a  girl  out; 
there." 

"  But  who  is  to  write  the  letter  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  an  idea.  She  won't  be- 
lieve it." 

"  Not  at  first,  perhaps,  but  when 
she  gets  no  more  letters  from  him 
she  will." 

"  So  she  will.  So  then  you  will 
run  him  down  to  her." 


204 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND." 


"Not  such  a  fool,  she  would  hate 
me.  I  shall  never  mention  his  name. 
I  m-ike  one  of  my  tools  han^  jail 
over  old  Merton.  Susan  thinks 
George  married.  I  strike  upon  iier 
pique  and  lier  father's  distress.  I  ask 
him  for  his  daughter.  Offer  to  pay 
my  father-in-law's  dehtsand  start  him 
afresh." 

"  Beautiful !     Beautiful !  " 

"  Susan  likes  me  already.  I  tell 
her  all  1  suffered  silent  while  she  was 
on  with  George.  1  press  her  to  be 
mine.  She  will  say  no  perhaps  three 
or  four  times,  but  the  fifth  she  will 
say  yes !  " 

'"  She  will ;  you  are  a  great  man." 

"  And  she  will  be  happy." 

"  Can't  see  it." 

"  A  man  that  marries  a  virtuous 
woman  and  loves  her  is  no  man  at 
all  if  he  can't  make  her  love  him  ; 
they  can't  resist  our  stronger  wills 
except  by  flight  or  by  leaning  upon 
another  man.     I  '11  be  back  directly." 

Mr.  Meadows  returned  with  a  bot- 
tle of  wine  and  two  glasses.  Craw- 
ley was  surprised.  This  was  a  bev- 
erage he  had  never  seen  his  friend 
drink  or  offer  him.  Another  thing 
puzzled  him.  When  Mr.  Meadows 
came  back  with  the  wine  he  had  not 
so  much  color  as  usual  in  his  face,  — 
not  near  so  much. 

"  Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  suppose,  while  I  am 
working,  this  George  Fielding  were 
to  come  home  with  money  in  both 
pockets  ?  " 

"  He  would  kick  it  all  down  in  a 
moment." 

"  I  am  glad  you  see  that.  Then 
you  see  one  hand  is  not  enough  ; 
another  must  be  working  far  away." 

"  Yes,  hut  I  don't  see  —  " 

*'  You  will  see.  Drink  a  glass  of 
wine  with  me,  my  good  friend, — 
your  health." 

"  Same  to  you,  sir." 

"  Is  it  to  your  mind  ?  " 

*'  Elixir  !  This  is  the  stuff  that 
sharpens  a  chap's  wit,  and  puts  cour- 
age in  his  heart." 

"  1  brought  it  for  that.     You  and  I 


have  no  chicken's  play  on  hand. 
Another  glass." 

"  Success  to  your  scheme,  sir." 

"  Crawley,  George  Fielding  must 
not  come  back  this  year  with  ono 
thousand  pounds." 

"  No,  he  must  not,  —  thank  you, 
sir,  your  health.  Must  n't,  he  sha'  n't ; 
but  how  on  earth  can  you  prevent 
him  ?  " 

"  That  paper  will  prevent  him  :  it 
is  a  paper  of  instructions.  My  very 
brains  lie  in  that  paper,  —  put  it  in 
your  pocket." 

"  In  my  pocket,  sir  ?  Highly  hon- 
ored, —  shall  be  executed  to  the  let- 
ter.    What,  wine ! " 

"  And  this  is  a  check-book." 

"  No  I  is  it  though  ?  " 

"  You  will  draw  on  me  for  one 
hundred  pounds  per  month." 

"  No  !  shall  I  though  ?  Sir,  you 
are  a  king  !  " 

"  Of  which  you  will  account  for  fif- 
ty pounds  only." 

*'  Liberal,  sir ;  as  I  said  before,  lib- 
eral as  running  water." 

"  You  are  going  a  journey." 

"Am  I?  well!  Don't  you  turn 
pale  for  that,  —  I  '11  come  back  to 
you,  —  nothing  but  death- shall  part 
us.  Have  a  drop  of  this,  sir;  it  will 
put  blood  into  your  cheek,  and  fire  in- 
to your  heart.  That  is  right.  Where 
am  I  going,  sir  1 " 

"  What,  don't  j-ou  know  ?  " 

"  No  !  nor  I  don't  care,  so  long  as 
it  is  in  your  service  I  go." 

"  Still  it  is  a  long  journey." 

"  O,  is  it?  Your  health  then,  and 
my  happy  return." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  the  sea  or 
the  wind  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  but  your 
wrath,  and — and  —  the  hiw.  The 
sea  l)C  hanged,  and  the  wind  be 
hlowed  !  When  I  sec  your  talent  and 
energy,  and  hold  your  check-l-ook  in 
my  hand  and  your  instructions  in  n>y 
pocket,  I  feel  to  play  at  fot>tbaIl  with 
the  world.     When  shall  I  start  1  " 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"  To-night,  if  you  like.  Where  am 
I  to  go  to  ?  " 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


295 


"  To  Australia  !  " 

That  single  word  suspended  the 
glass  going  to  Crawley's  lips,  and  the 
chuckle  coming  from  them.  A  dead 
silence  on  both  sides  followed  it. 
And  now  tiro  colorless  faces  looked 
into  one  another's  eyes  across  the  ta- 
ble. 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

Three  days  the  gold -finders  worked 
alone  upon  the  pre-Adamite  river's 
bed.  At  evening  on  the  third  day 
tliey  looked  up  and  saw  a  figure 
perched  watching  them  with  a  pipe  in 
its  mouth.  It  disappeared  in  silence. 
JSIext  day  there  were  men  on  their 
knees  beside  them,  digging,  scraping, 
washing,  and  worshipping  gold.  iSoon 
they  were  the  centre  of  a  group,  — 
soon  after  of  a  humming  mob.  ^s 
if  the  birds  had  really  carried  the 
secre^t  north,  south,  east,  and  west, 
men*swarmed  and  buzzed  and  settled 
like  locusts  on  the  gold-bearing  tract. 
They  came  ia,  panting,  gleaming, 
dusty,  and  travel-stained,  and  flung 
otf  their  fatigue  at  sight,  and,  running 
up,  dived  into  the  gullies,  and  plied 
spade  and  pickaxe  with  clenched 
teeth  and  throbbing  hearts.  They 
seamed  the  face  of  Nature  for  miles  ; 
turned  the  streams  to  get  at  their 
bed§ ;  pounded  and  crushed  the  solid 
rock  to  squeeze  out  the  subtle  stain 
of  gold  it  held  in  its  veins  ;  —  hacked 
through  the  crops  as  through  any 
other  idle  impediment ;  pecked  and 
hewed  and  fought  and  wrestled  with 
Nature  for  the  treasure  that  lay  so 
nenr,  yet  in  so  tight  a  grip. 

We'  take  otf  our  clothes  to  sleep  and 
])ut  them  on  to  play  at  work,  but 
these  put  on  thf-ir  clothes  to  sleep  in. 
and  tore  thi-tn  oil" at  pei'p  of  diy,  and 
labor  wns  red  hot  till  night  cume  and 
cooled  it  ;  and  in  this  fight  lives 
fell  as  quickly  as  in  actual  war,  and 
by  the  same  enemy,  —  Disease  :  small 
wonder,  when  hundreds  and  hundreds 
wrougiit  the  livelong  day  one  half  in 


icy  water,  the  other  half  dripping  with 
sweat. 

Men  rotted  like  sheep',  and  died  at 
the  feet  of  that  Gold  whom  they 
stormed  here  in  his  fortress  ;  and  some 
alas  met  a  worse  'fate:  for  that 
befell  which  the  world  has  seen  in  ' 
every  age  and  land  where  gold  has 
come  to  light  upon  a  soil  :  men  wres- 
tling fiercely  with  Nature  jostled  each 
other  :  cupidity  inflamed  hate  to  mad- 
ness, and  huiiian  blood  flowed  like 
water  over  that  yellow  dirt.  And 
now  from  this  one' burning  spot  gold- 
fever  struck  inwards  to  the  heart  of 
the  land  :  burned  its  veins,  and 
maddened  its  brain  :  the  workman 
sold  his  tools,  bought  a  spade  and  a 
pickaxe,  and  fled  to  the  gold  :  the 
lawyer  flung  down  his  parchment  and 
oft'  to  the  gold  :  the  penny-a-liner  his 
brass  pen  and  off  to  a  greater  wonder 
than  he  had  ever  fabricated:  the 
schoolmaster  to  whom  little  boys  were 
puzzling  out  — 

Quid  noa  mortalia  pectora  cogis 
Auri  sacra  fames  — 

made  the  meaning  perfectly  clear :  he 
dropped  ferule  and  book  and  ran 
with  the  national  hunt  for  gold.  Shops 
were  closed  for  want  of  buyers  and 
sellers  ;  the  grass  crept  up  between 
the  paving-stones  in  great  thorough- 
fares ;  outward-bound  ships  lay  de- 
serted and  helpless  in  the  roads ;  the 
wilderness  was  peopled  and  the  cities 
desolate;  commerce  was  paralyzed, 
industry  contracted  :  the  wise  and 
good  trembled  for  the  destiny  of  the 
people,  the  government  trembled  for 
itself,  —  idle  fear.  That  which  shook 
this  colony  for  a  moment  settled  it  as 
firm  as  a  granite  mountain  and  made 
it  great  with  a  rapidity  that  would 
have  astounded  the  puny  ages  cant 
appeals  to  as  the  days  of  wonders. 

The  sarm  fimps  was  not  Austra- 
li.in  but  human  ;  and  so  at  the  first 
whisper  of  gold  the  old  nations  poured 
the  wealth  they  valued, — their  food 
and  clothes  and  silk  and  coin,  —  and 
the  prime  treasure  they  valued  not 
their  men,  —  into  that  favored  land. 


296 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


Then  did  great  Labor,  insulted 
and  cheated  so  many  years  in  narrow, 
over  -  e row  dcd  corners  of  the  luij;e 
unpeopled  }rh)he,  lift  his  bare  arm 
and  cry,  "  Who  bids  for  this  ?  "  and 
a  dozen  gloved  hands  jumped  and 
clutehed  at  the  prize  :  and  in  bargains 
where  a  man  went  on  one  side  and 
money  on  the  other,  the  money  had 
to  say,  "  Thank  you,"  over  it  instead 
of  the  man. 

But  still,  though  the  average  value 
of  labor  was  now  full  as  high  in  the 
cities  as  in  the  mine,  men  Howed  to 
the  desert  and  the  gold,  tempted  by 
the  enormous  prizes  there,  that  lay 
close  to  all  and  came  to  fortune's 
favorites. 

Hence  a  new  wonder,  a  great  mor- 
al phenomenon,  the  world  had  never 
seen  before  on  such  a  wide  scale.  At 
a  period  of  unparalleled  civilization 
and  reHnement,  society,  with  its  arti- 
ficial hal)its  and  its  jealous  class  dis- 
tinctions on  its  back,  took  a  sudden 
unprepared  leap  from  the  heights  it 
had  been  centuries  constructing,  —  in- 
to a  gold  mine  :  it  emerged,  its  delicate 
fabric  crushed  out  of  all  recognizable 
shape,  its  petty  prides  annihilated,  and 
even  its  just  distinctions  turned  topsy- 
turvey  :  for  mind  is  really  more  hon- 
orable than  muscle,  yet  when  these 
two  met  in  a  gold  inine  it  fared  ill 
with  mind.  Classical  and  mathemat- 
ical scholars  joined  their  forces  with 
navvies  to  dig  gold  :  and  nearly  al- 
ways the  scholars  were  found  after  a 
while  cooking,  shoe-cleaning,  and  do- 
ing generally  menial  offices  for  the 
navvies. 

Those  who  had  no  learning,  but  had 
good  birth,  genteel  manners,  and  kid 
gl(jves  and  feeble  loins,  sank  lower  and 
became  the  dregs  of  gold-(ligging  so- 
ciety ere  a  week's  diirging  had  passed 
over  their  backs.  Not  that  all  wit 
yielded  to  muscle.  Low  cunning  of- 
ten held  its  own  ;  hundreds  of  lazy 
leeches  settled  on  lal)or's  bare  arm 
and  bled  it.  ISueh  as  could  minister  to 
the  dig;:er's  ])hysical  needs,  appetites, 
vices,  had  no  need  to  dig  ;  they  made 
the  diggers  work  for  them,  and  took 


toll  of  the  precious  dust  as  it  fell  into 
their  hands. 

One  brute  that  could  not  s]>e!l  ehio 
cory  to  save  him>elf  from  the  gallows 
cleared  two  thousand  ]>ounds  a  month 
by  selling  it  and  hot  water  at  a  ])ii.ch 
a  cup.  Thus  ran  his  announcement, 
"  Cofy  alius  rady."  JMcaniime  Tiig- 
onometry  was  frying  steaks  and  on 
Sunday  blacking  l)oots. 

After  a  while  lucky  diggers  re- 
turned to  the  towns  clogged  with  gold, 
and  lusting  and  panting  for  pleasure. 

They  hired  carriages  and  sweet- 
hearts, and  |)aradcd  the  streets  all  day, 
crying,  "  VVe  be  the  hairy  stocracy, 
now  !  !  " 

The  shopkeepers  bowed  down  and 
did  them  homage. 

Even  here  Nature  had  her  say.  The 
sexes  came  out,  —  the  men  sat  in  the 
carriages  in  their  dirty  fustian  and 
their  checkered  shirts  and  no  jacket ; 
their  inamoratas  beside  them  glittered 
in  silk  and  satin  :  and  some  fiend  told 
these  poor  women  it  was  genteel  to  be 
short  -  sighted  ;  so  they  all  bought 
gold  spy  -  glasses,  and  spied  without 
intermission. 

Then  the  old  colonial  aristocracy, 
who  had  been  born  in  bpoadcloth  and 
silk,  and  unlike  the  new  had  not  heen 
transported,  but  only  their  papas  and 
mammas,  were  driven  to  despair  ;  but 
at  last  they  liit  upon  a  remedy.  Tliey 
would  be  distinguished  by  hook  or 
by  crook,  and  the  only  way  left  now 
was  always  to  go  on  foot.  So  they 
walked  the  pavement,  —  wet  or  dry, 
nothing  could  induce  them  to  enter 
the  door  of  a  carriage.  Item  :  they 
gave  up  being  short-sighted ;  the  few 
who  for  reasons  distinct  from  fashion 
could  not  resign  the  hal)it  concealed 
it.  as  if  it  was  a  defect  instead  of  a 
beauty. 

This  struggle  of  classes  in  the  towns, 
with  its  hundred  and  one  incidents, 
was  an  excellent  theine  for  satire  of 
the  highest  class.  How  has  it  es- 
caped ?  is  it  that  even  Satire,  low  and 
easy  art,  is  not  so  low  and  easy  as 
Detraction  ?  But  these  arc  the  out- 
skirts of  a  great  theme.     The  themo 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


297 


itself  belonged,  not  to  little  satire,  but 
to  great  e|jic. 

In  the  sudden  return  of  a  society 
Ifar  more  complex,  urtiticial,  and  con- 
ventional than  Pericles  ever  dreamed 
I  jof,  to  elements  more  primitive  than 
\  Jlomcr  had  to  deal  Avith  ;  in  this  with 
Vjts  novelty,  and  nature,  and  strange 
contrasts, 

111  the  old  barbaric  force  and  native 
color  of  the  passions,  as  they  burst  out 
undisguised  around  the  gold. 

In  the  hundred  and  one  personal 
combats  and  trials  of  cunning, 

In  a  desert  peopled,  and  cities 
thinned,  by  the  magic  of  cupidity, 

In  a  huge  army  collected  in  ten 
thousand  tents,  not  as  heretofore  by 
one  man's  constraining  will,  but  each 
human  unit  spurred  into  the  crowd  by 
his  own  heart. 

In  '•  the  siege  of  Gold,"  defended 
stoutly  by  Rock  and  Disease, 

In  the  world-wide  effect  of  the  dis- 
covery, the  peopling  of  the  earth  at  last 
according  to  Heaven's  long-published 
and  resisted  design, 

Fate  offered  poetry  a  theme  broad 
and  high,  yet  piquant,  and  various  as 
the  dolphin  and  the  rainbow. 

I  cannot  sing  this  song,  because  I 
am  neither  Lamartine,  nor  Hugo,  nor 
Walter  Scott.  I  cannot  hum  this 
song,  because  the  severe  conditions  of 
my  story  forbid  me  even  to  make  the 
adventurous  attempt.  I  am  here  to 
tell,  not  the  great  tale  of  gold,  but  the 
little  story  of  how  Susan  Merton  was 
affected  tiiereby.  Yet  it  shall  never 
be  said  that  my  pen  passed  close  to  a 
great  man  or  a  great  thing  without  a 
word  of  homage  and  sympathy  to  set 
against  thec^neers  of  grovelling  crit- 
icasters, the  blindness  of  self-singing 
poetasters,  and  the  national  itch  for 
detraction  of  all  great  things  and  men 
that  live,  and  deification  of  dead 
dwarfs. 

God  has  been  bountiful  to  the  hu- 
man race  in  this  age.  Most  bounti- 
ful to  Poets  ;  most  bountiful  to  all 
of  us  who  have  a  spark  of  noble- 
ness in  ourselves,  and  so  can  see 
and  revere  at  sight  the  truly  grand 
13* 


and  noble  (any  snob  can  do  this  after 
it  has  been  settled  two  hundred  years 
by  other  minds  that  he  is  to  do  it). 
lie  has  given  us  warlike  heroes  more 
than  we  can  count,  —  far  less  honor 
as  they  deserve  ;  and  valor  as  full  of 
variety  as  courage  in  the  Iliad  is  mo- 
notonous,—  except  when  it  takes  to 
its  heels. 

He  has  given  us  one  hero,  a  better 
man  than  Hector  or  Achilles.  For 
Hector  ran  away  from  a  single  man  ; 
this  hero  was  never  known  to  ruii 
away  at  all.  Achilles  was  a  better 
egotist  than  soldier ;  wounded  in  his 
personal  vanity,  he  revenged  himself, 
not  on  the  man  who  had  wronged 
him, — Prudence  forbade, — but  on 
the  army,  and  on  his  country.  This  an- 
tique hero  sulked ;  my  hero,  deprived 
of  the  highest  command,  retained 
a  higher  still,  —  the  command  that 
places  the  great  of  heart  above  all  pet- 
ty personal  feeling.  He  was  a  soldier, 
and  could  not  look  from  his  tent  on 
battle  and  not  plunge  into  it.  What 
true  soldier  ever  could  ?  He  was  not 
a  Greek  but  a  Frenchman, — and 
could  hot  love  himself  better  than  his 
country.  Above  all,  he  was  not 
Achilles,  but  Canrobert. 

He  has  given  us  to  see  Nineveh  dis- 
interred by  an  English  hero. 

He  has  given  us  to  see  the  north- 
west passage  forced,  and  winter  beard- 
ed on  his  everlasting  throne,  by  an- 
other. (Is  it  the  hero's  fault  if  self- 
and  snowdrop-singing  poetasters  can- 
not see  this  feat  with  the  eyes  of 
Camoens  1 ) 

He  has  given  us  to  see  Titans  en- 
slaved by  man  ;  Steam  harnessed  to 
our  carriages  and  ships :  Galvanism 
tamed  into  an  alphabet,  —  a  Gamut, 
and  its  metal  harp-strings  stretched 
across  the  earth  maJgre  mountains 
and  the  sea,  and  so  men's  minds  de- 
fying the  twin  monsters  Time  and 
Space ;  and  now,  gold  revealed  in  the 
East  and  West  at  once,  and  so  man- 
kind now  first  in  earnest  peopling 
the  enormous  globe.  Yet  old  women 
and  children  of  the  pen  say,  this  is  a 
bad,  a  small,  a  lifeless,  an  unpoetic 


208 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


age:  —  and  they  are  not  mistaken. 
For  they  lie. 

As  only  tooth-stoppers,  retailers  of 
conventional  phrases,  links  in  the 
great  cuckoo-chain,  universal  pill- 
vendors,  Satan,  and  ancient  booksell- 
ers' ancient  nameless  hacks  can  lie, 
they  lie. 

It  is  they  who  arc  small-eyed.  Now, 
as  heretofore,  weaklings  cannot  rise 
high  enough  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  their  own  age,  and  calculate  its 
dimensions. 

The  age,  smaller  than  epochs  to 
come,  is  a  giant  compared  with  the 
past,  and  full  of  mighty  materials  for 
any  great  pen  in  prose  or  verse. 

My  little  friends  aged  nineteen  and 
downwards,  —  fourscore  and  upwards, 
—  who  have  been  lending  your  ears 
to  the  stale  little  cant  of  every  age,  as 
chanted  in  this  one  by  ButFo-Bom- 
bastes  and  other  foaming-at-the-pen 
old  women  of  both  sexes,  —  take,  by 
way  of  antidote  to  all  that  poisonous, 
soiil  -  withering  drivel,  ten  honest 
words. 

I  say  before  heaven  and  earth  that 
tlie  man  who  could  grasp  the  facts  of 
this  day  and  do  an  immortal  writer's 
duty  by  them,  i.  e.  so  paint  them  as 
a  later  age  will  be  content  to  engrave 
them,  would  be  the  greatest  writer 
ever  lived  :  such  is  the  force,  weight, 
and  number  of  the  grand  topics  tha4 
lie  this  day  on  the  world's  face.  I 
say  that  he  Avho  has  eyes  to  see  may 
now  sec  greater  and  far  more  poetic 
things  than  human  eyes  have  seen 
since  our  Lord  and  his  apostles  and 
his  miracles  left  the  earth. 

It  is  very  hard  to  write  a  good  book 
or  a  good  play,  or  to  invent  a  good 
picture,  and  having  invented  paint  it. 
But  it  always  was  hard,  except  to 
those  —  to  whom  it  was  impossible. 
Bunglers  will  not  mend  matters  by 
blackening  the  great  canvases  they 
can't  paint  on,  nor  the  impotent  be- 
come males  by  detraction. 

"Justice  !  " 

When  we  write  a  story  or  sing  a 
poem  of  the  great  nineteenth  century, 
there  is  but  one  fear,  —  not  that  our 


theme  will  be  beneath  us,  but  wo  miles 
below  it ;  that  we  shall  lack  the  com- 
prehensive vision  a  man  must  have 
from  heaven  to  catch  the  historical, 
the  poetic,  the  lasting  features  of  the 
Titan  events  that  stride  so  swiftly 
past  IN   THIS    GIGANTIC  AGE. 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

The  life  of  George  Fielding  and 
Thomas  Robinson  for  months  could  be 
composed  in  a  few  words  :  tremendous 
work  from  sunrise  to  sundown,  and 
on  Sunday  welcome  rest,  a  quiet  pipe, 
and  a  book. 

At  night  they  slept  in  a  good  tent, 
with  Carlo  at  their  feet,  and  a  little 
bag  between  them ;  this  bag  never 
left  their  sight :  it  went  out  to  their 
work,  and  in  to  sleep. 

It  is  dinner-time ;  George  and  Tom 
are  snatching  a  mouthful,  and  a  few 
words  over  it. 

"  How  much  do  you  think  we  are, 
Tom  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  don't  speak  so  loud,  for 
Heaven's  sake  "  ;  he  added  In  a  whis- 
per, "  not  a  penny  under  seven  hun- 
dred pounds'  worth." 

George  sighed. 

"  It  is  slower  work  than  I  thought ; 
but  it  is  my  fault,  I  am  so  un- 
lucky." 

"  Unlucky  !  and  we  have  not  been 
eight  months  at  it." 

"  But  one  party  near  us  cleared 
four  thousand  pounds  at  a  haul  ;  one 
thousand  pounds  apiece,  —  ah  !  " 

"  And  hundreds  have  only  just  been 
able  to  keep  themselves.  Come  :  you 
must  not  grumble,  we  are  high  above 
the  average." 

George  persisted. 

"  The  reason  we  don't  get  on  is,  we 
try  for  nothing  better  than  dust.  You 
know  what  yon  told  me,  that  the  goM 
was  never  created  in  dust,  but  in 
masses,  like  all  metals;  the  ilusr  is 
only  a  trifle  that  has  been  washnl  off 
the  bulk.    Then  you  said  we  ought  to 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


299 


track  the  gold-dust  coarser  and  coars- 
er, till  we  traced  the  metal  to  its  home 
iu  the  <rreac  rucks." 

"  Ay  !  Ay !  I  believe  I  used  to 
talk  so,  but  I  am  wiser  now.  Look 
here,  George,  no  doubt  the  gold  was 
all  in  block  when  the  world  started, 
but  how  many  million  years  ago  was 
that "?  This  is  my  notion,  George  ;  at 
the  beginning  of  the  world  the  gold 
was  all  solid,  at  the  end  it  is  all  to  be 
dust ;  now  which  are  we  nearer,  the 
end  or  the  beginning  1  " 

"  Not  knowing,  can't  say,  Tom." 

"  Then  I  can,  for  his  reverence  told 
me.  We  are  fifty  times  nearer  the  end 
than  the  beginning,  follows  there  is 
fifty  times  as  much  gold-dust  in  na- 
ture as  solid  gold." 

"  What  a  head  you  ha'  got,  Tom  ! 
but  I  can't  take  it  up  so  :  seems  to 
me  this  dust  is  like  the  grain  that 
is  shed  from  a  ripe  crop  before  it 
comes  to  the  sickle  :  now  if  we  could 
trace  —  " 

"  How  can  you  trace  sirup  up  to 
the  lump  when  the  lump  is  all  turned 
to  sirup  1 " 

George  held  his  peace,  —  shut  up, 
but  not  convinced. 

"  Hallo  !  you  two  lucky  ones,"  cried 
a  voice  distant  about  thirty  yards  : 
"  will  you  buy  our  hole,  it  is  breaking 
our  heart  here." 

Robinson  v/ent  up  and  found  a 
large  hole  excavated  to  a  great  depth  ; 
it  was  yielding  literally  nothing,  and 
this  determined  that  paradoxical  per- 
sonage to  buy  it  if  it  was  cheap, 
"  What  there  is  must  be  somewhere 
all  in  a  lump." 

He  offered  ten  pounds  for  it,  which 
was  eagerly  snapped  at. 

"  Well  done,  Gardiner,"  said  one 
of  the  band.  "  We  would  have  taken 
ten  shillings  for  it,"  explained  he  to 
Robinson. 

Robinson  paid  the  money,  and  let 
himself  down  into  the  hole  with  his 
spade.  He  drove  his  spade  into  the 
clay,  and  the  bottom  of  it  just  reached 
the  rock;  he  looked  up.  "I  would 
have  gone  just  one  foot  deeper  before 
i  gave  in,"  said  he;  he  called  George. 


"  Come,  George,    we   can   know   our 
fate  iu  ten  minutes." 

They  shovelled  the  clay  away  down 
to  about  one  inch  above  the  rock,  and 
there  in  the  white  clay  they  found  a 
little  bit  of  gold  as  big  as  a  pin's  head. 
"  We  have  done  it  this  time,"  cried 
Robinson,  "  shave  a  little  more  off, 
not  too  deep,  and  save  the  clay.  This 
time  a  score  of  little  nuggets  came  to 
view  sticking  in  the  clay  ;  no  need 
for  washing,  they  picked  them  out 
with  their  knives.'*  ' 

The  news  soon  spread,  and  a  mul- 
titude buzzed  round  the  hole  tfftd 
looked  down  on  the  men  picking  out 
peas  and  beans  of  pure  gold  with  their 
knives. 

Presently ^a  voice  cried,  "Shame, 
give  the  men  back  their  hole  !  " 

"  Gammon,"  cried  others,  "  they 
paid  for  a  chance,  and  it  turned  out 
well ;  a  bargain  is  a  bargain."  Gar- 
diner and  his  mates  looked  sorrowful- 
ly down.  Robinson  saw  their  faces, 
and  came  out  of  the  hole  a  moment. 
He  took  Gardiner  aside  and  whispered, 
"Jump  into  our  hole  like  lightning, 
it  is  worth  four  pound  a  day." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  said  Gardiner. 
He  ran  and  jumped  into  the  hole  just 
as  another  man  was  going  to  take 
possession.  By  digger's  law  no  party 
is  allowed  to  occupy  two  holes. 

All  that  afternoon  there  was  a  mob 
looking  down  at  George  and  Robin- 
son picking  out  peas  and  beans  of 
gold,  and  envy's  satanic  fire  burned 
many  a  heart ;  these  two  were  pick- 
ing up  at  least  a  hundred  pounds  an 
hour.  , 

Now  it  happened  late  in  the  after- 
noon that  a  man  of  shabby  figure, 
evidently  not  a  digger,  observing  that 
there  was  always  more  or  less  crowd 
in  one  place,  shambled  up  and  looked 
down  with  the  rest ;  as  he  looked 
down,  George  happened  to  look  up ; 
the  new-comer  drew  back  hastily. 
After  that  his  proceedings  were  sin- 
gular ;  he  remained  in  the  crowd 
more  than  two  hours,  not  stationary, 
but  winding  in  and  out.  He  listened 
to  everything  that  was  said,  especially 


300 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


if  it  was  Tniitfered  and  not  spoken 
out ;  and  lie  ]K?er('d  into  every  i'acc, 
and  peerinj;  into  every  face  it  befell 
that  at  last  his  eye  lij;lited  on  one  that 
seemed  to  f'aseinate  him  ;  it  hdonj^ed 
to  a  fellow  with  a  j^reat  bull  neek,  and 
hair  and  beard  ilowinj;  all  into  one, 
—  a  man  more  like  the  black-maned 
lion  of  North  Afriea  than  anything,' 
else.  But  it  was  not  liis  appearanee 
that  faseinated  the  serpentine  one,  it 
was  the  look  he  cast  down  upon  those 
two  lucky  di<!:<>^ers  ;  a  scowl  of  tremen- 
dous hatred,  —  hatred  unto  death, 
iistinet  told  the  serpent  there  must 
be  more  in  this  than  extempore  envy. 
He  waited  and  watclied,  and,  when  the 
black-maued  one  moved  away,  he  fol- 
lowed him  about  everywhere  till  at 
last  he  ^ot  him  alone. 

Then  he  sidled  up,  and  in  a  cring- 
ing way  said  :  — 

"  What  luck  some  men  have,  don't 
they  1  " 

The  man  answered  by  a  fierce  grunt. 

The  serpent  was  half  afraid  of  him, 
but  he  went  on. 

"  There  will  be  a  good  lump  of 
gold  in  their  tent  to-night." 

The  other  seemed  struck  with  these 
worcls. 

"  They  have  been  lucky  a  long 
time,"  explained  the  other,  "  and  now 
this  added  —  " 

"  Well,  what  about  it  ?  " 

"Nothing!  only  I  wish  somebody 
else  had  it  instead." 

"  Why  1  " 

"  That  is  a  secret  for  the  present. 
I  only  tell  you,  because  I  think  some- 
how they  are  no  friends  of  yours 
either." 

"  Perhaps  not !  what  then." 

"  Then  we  might  perhaps  do  bus- 
iness together  ;  it  will  strike  you  sin- 
gular, but  I  have  a  friend  who  would 
give  money  to  any  one  that  would 
take  a  little  from  those  two." 

"  Say  that  aiiain." 

"  Would  give  money  to  any  one 
that  would  take  it    from  tho^e  two." 

"  And  you  won't  ask  for  any  share 
of  the  swag  1  " 

"  Me  1  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 


"  Gammon !  well,  your  friend !  will 
he?" 

"  Not  a  farthing  !  " 

"  And  what  will  he  give,  suppose 
I  have  a  friend  that  will  do  the 
trick  ?  " 

"  According  to  the  risk  !  " 

The  man  gave  a  whistle.  A  fel- 
low with  forehead  villanously  low 
can)e  from  behind  some  tents. 

"  What  is  it.  Will  ?  "  asked  the 
new-comer. 

"  A  plant." 

"This  one  in  it?  " 

"  Yes  !  This  is  too  public,  com© 
to  Bevau's  store." 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

"  George,  I  want  you  to  go  to 
Bathurst." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  buy  some  things." 

"  What  things  1 " 

"First  of  all,  a  revolver;  there 
were  fellows  about  our  tent  last  night, 
creeping  and  prowling." 

"  I  never  heard  them." 

"  No  more  you  would  an  earth- 
quake, —  hut  I  heard  them,  and  got 
up,  and  pointed  my  revolver  at  them  ; 
so  then  they  cut,  —  all  the  better  for 
them.  AVe  must  mind  our  eve, 
George ;  a  good  many  tents  are 
robbed  every  week,  and  we  are  known 
to  have  a  good  swair." 

"  Well,  I  must  start  this  moment  if 
I  am  to  be  back." 

"  And  take  a  pound  of  dust  and 
buy  things  that  we  can  sell  here  to  a 
profit." 

George  came  back  at  night  looking 
rather  sheep-faced. 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  "  I  am  afraid  I 
have  done  wrong.  You  see  there  was 
a  confounded  auction,  and  what  with 
the  hammer,  and  the  folk  bidding, 
and  his  palaver,  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  But  what  is  it  you  have  bought  ?  " 

"A  bit  o'  land,  Tom." 

Kobin^on  groaned  ;  but,  recovering 
himself,  he  said  gayly  :  — 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


301 


"  "Well,  have  you  brought  it  with 
you  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  so  small  as  all  that ; 
as  nice  a  bit  of  grass  as  ever  you  saw, 
Tom,  and  just  outside  the  town  of 
Bathurst ;  only  I  did  n't  ought  to 
have  spent  your  money  as  well  as 
my  own." 

'"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  —  I  accept 
the  investment.  Let  me  load  your 
new  revolver.  Now  look  at  my  day's 
work.  I  would  n't  take  a  hundred 
pound  for  these  little  fellows." 

George  gloated  over  the  little  nug- 
gets, for  he  saw  Susan's  eyes  in  them. 
To-night  she  seemed  so  near.  The 
little  bag  was  placed  between  them, 
the  day's  spoils  added  to  it,  and  the 
tired  friends  were  soon  asleep. 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

"  Help  !  help  !  murder  !  help  ! 
murder !  " 

Such  were  the  cries  that  invaded 
the  sleepers'  ears  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  to  which  horrible  sounds  was 
added  the  furious  barking  of  Carlo. 

The  men  seized  their  revolvers  and 
rushed  out  of  the  tent.  At  about 
sixty  yards  distant  they  saw  a  man 
on  the  ground  struggling  under  two 
fellows,  and  still  crying,  though  more 
faintly,  "  murder  "  and  "  help." 

"  They  are  killing  him  !  "  cried 
George;  and  Robinson  and  he 
cocked  their  revolvers  and  ran  furi- 
ously towards  the  men.  But  these 
did  not  wait  the  attack.  They  start- 
ed up  and  off  like  the  wind,  followed 
by  two  shots  from  Robinson  that 
whistled  unpleasantly  near  them. 

"  Have  they  hurt  you,  my  poor  fel- 
low ?  "  said  Robinson. 

The  man  only  groaned  for  answer. 

Robinson  turned  his  fuce  up  in  the 
moonlight,  and  recognized  a  man  to 
whom  he  had  never  spoken,  but  whom 
his  watchful  eye  had  noticed  more 
than  once  in  the  mine,  —  it  was  in 
fact  the  pedler  Walker. 

"  Stop,  George,  I  have  seen  this  face 


in  bad  company.  Oh  !  hack  to  our 
tent  for  your  life,  and  kill  any  man 
you  see  near  it !  " 

They  ran  back.  They  saw  two 
dark  figures  melting  into  the  night  on 
the  other  side  the  tent.  They  darted 
in,  —  they  felt  for  the  bag.  Gone! 
They  felt  convulsively  all  round  the 
tent.  Gone !  With  trembling  hands 
Robinson  struck  a  light.  Gone, —  the 
work  of  months  gone  in  a  moment,  — 
the  hope  of  a  life  snatched  out  of  a 
lover's  very  hand,  and  held  out  a 
mile  off  again  ! 

The  poor  fellows  rushed  wildly  out 
into  the  night.  They  saw  nothing 
but  the  wretched  decoy  vanishing 
behind  the  nearest  tents.  They  came 
into  the  tent  again.  They  sat  doAvn 
and  bowed  to  the  blow  in  silence,  and 
looked  at  one  another,  and  their  lips 
quivered,  and  they  fesired  to  speak 
lest  they  should  break  into  unmanly 
rage  or  sorrow.  So  they  sat  like 
stone  till  daybreak. 

And  when  the  first  streak  of  twilight 
came  in,  George  said  in  a  firm  whis- 
per :  — 

"  Take  my  hand,  Tom,  before  we 
go  to  work." 

So  the  two  friends  sat  hand  in 
hand  a  minute  or  two  ;  and  that 
hard  grip  of  two  workingmen's  hands, 
though  it  was  not  gently  eloquent 
like  beauty's  soft,  expressive  palm, 
did  yet  say  many  things  good  for  the 
heart  in  this  bitter  hour. 

It  said  :  "  A  great  calamity  has  fall- 
en :  but  we  do  not  blame  each  other, 
as  some  turn  to  directly  and  do.  It 
is  not  your  fault  George.  It  is  not 
your  fault,  Tom." 

It  said  :  "  We  were  lucky  together  ; 
now  we  are  unlucky  together,  —  all 
the  more  friends.  We  wrought  to- 
gether ;  now  we  have  been  wronged 
together, —  all  the  more  friends." 
VVith  this  the  sun  rose,  and  for  the 
first  time  they  crept  to  their  work  in- 
stead of  springing  to  it. 

They  still  found  gold  in  it,  but  not 
quite  so  abundant  or  so  large.  They 
had  raised  the  cream  of  it  for  the 
thieves.     Moreover  a  rush  had  been 


302 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND.' 


made  to  the  hole,  claims  measured 
off  iictuully  touchin}^  them;  so  they 
could  not  follow  the  ^old-l)caring 
strata  horizontally  —  it  belonjred  to 
tlie'ir  nciglihors.  They  worked  in  si- 
lence, they  ate  their  meal  in  silence. 
But  as  they  rosG  to  work  again,  liob- 
inson  said,  very  gravely ,even  solemn- 
ly :  — 

"  George,  now  I  know  what  an 
honest  man  feels  when  he  is  robbed 
of  the  fruits  of  liis  work  and  his  self- 
denial  and  his  sobriety.  If  I  had 
known  it  fifteen  years  ago,  I  should 
never  have  been  a  —  what  I  have 
been." 

For  two  months  the  fi-iends  worked 
stoutly  with  leaden  hearts,  but  did 
little  more  than  pay  their  expenses. 
The  bag  lay  between  them  light  as  a 
feather.  One  morning  Tom  said  to 
George  :  — 

''  George,  this  won't  do.  I  am  go- 
ing piospeeting.  Moore  will  lend  me 
his  horse  for  a  day." 

That  day  George  worked  alone. 
Eol)inson  rode  all  over  the  country 
with  a  tin  pan  at  his  back,  and  tested 
all  the  places  that  seemed  likely  to 
his  experienced  eye.  At  night  he  re- 
turned to  their  tent.  George  was  just 
lying  down. 

"No  sleep  to-night,  George,"  said 
he,  instinctively  lowering  his  voice 
to  a  whisi)er  ;  "  I  have  found  surface- 
gold  ten  miles  to  the  southward." 

*'  Well,  we  will  go  to  it  to-mor- 
row." 

"  What,  by  daylight,  watched  as 
we  are  1  We,  the  two  lucky  ones," 
said  Robinson,  bitterly.  "  No.  AVait 
till  the  coast  is  clear, — then  strike 
tent  and  away." 

At  midnight  they  stole  out  of  the 
camp.  By  peep  of  day  they  were  in 
a  little  dell  with  a  brook  running  at 
the  bottom  of  it. 

"Now,  George,  listen  to  me.  Here 
is  ten  thousand  pounds  if  we  could 
keep  this  gully  and  the  creek  a  fort- 
night to  ourselves." 

"  O  Tom  !  and  wc  will.  Nobody 
will  find  us  here,  it  is  like  a  box." 

llobinson  smiled  sadly.     The  men 


I  drove  their  spades  in  close  to  the  little 
hole  which  Robinson  h  id  made  pros- 
pecting yesterday,  and  the  very  first 
cradleful  yielded  an  ounce  of  gold- 
dust  extremely  small  and  pure.  They 
found  it  diffused  with  wonderful  reg- 
ularity within  a  few  inches  of  the  sur- 
face. Here  for  the  first  time  George 
saw  gold-dust  so  plentiful  as  to  be 
visible.  When  a  spadeful  of  the  clay 
was  turned  up  it  glittered  all  over. 
When  they  tore  up  the  grass,  which 
was  green  as  an  emerald,  specks  of 
bright  gold  came  up  clinging  to  the 
roots.  They  lell  like  spaded  tigers 
on  the  prey. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  George  ?  " 

"  Going  to  light  a  fire  for  dinner. 
We  must  eat,  I  suppose,  though  I  do 
grudge  the  time." 

"  We  must  eat,  but  not  hot." 

"  Why  not  1  " 

"  Because,  if  you  light  a  fire,  the 
smoke  will  be  seen  miles  off,  and  half 
the  diggings  will  be  down  upon  us. 
I  have  brought  three  days'  cold  meat, 
—  here  it  is." 

"  Will  this  be  enough  ? "  asked 
George,  simply,  his  mouth  full. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  enough,"  replied 
the  other,  bitterly.  "Do~you  hear 
that  bird,  George  ?  They  call  him  a 
leather-head.     AVhat  is  he  singing  ?  " 

George  laughed.  "  Seems  to  me 
he  is  saying,  '  Off  we  go  ! '  '  Off  we 
go  ! '  '  Off  we  go  ! '  " 

"  That  is  it.  And  look  now,  off  he 
is  gone ;  and,  what  is  more,  he  has 
gone  to  tell  all  the  world  he  saw  two 
men  pick  up  gold  like  beans." 

"Work!"  cried  George. 

That  night  the  little  bag  felt  twice 
as  heavy  as  last  night,  and  Susan 
seemed  nearer  than  for  many  a  day. 
These  two  worked  for  their  lives. 
They  counted  each  minute,  and 
George  was  a  Goliath ;  the  soil  flew 
round  him  like  the  dust  about  a  win- 
nowirig-machine  :  he  was  working  for 
Susan.  Rohitison  wasted  two  seconds 
admiring  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "gold  puts  us  all 
on  our  mettle,  but  you  beat  all  ever  I 
saw.     You  are  a  man." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO  MEND.' 


303, 


It  was  tlic  mornin<^  of  the  third  day, 
and  the  friends  were  tilling  the  little 
bajjj  fast ;  and  at  breakfast  George 
quizzed  Robinson's  late  fears. 

*' The  leather-head  did  n't  tell  any- 
body, for  here  we  are  all  alone." 

Robinson  laughed. 

"  But  we  should  not  have  been,  if  I 
had  let  you  light  a  tire.  However,  I 
really  begin  to  hope  now  they  will  let 
us  alone  till  we  have  cleared  out  the 
gully.     Hallo  !  " 

"'What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Look  there,  George." 

"What  is  it?  Smoke  rising, — 
down  the  valley  1  " 

"  We  are  done  !  Did  n't  I  tell 
you  ?  " 

"  Don't  say  so,  Tom.  "Why,  it  is 
only  smoke,  and  five  miles  off." 

"  What  signifies  what  it  is  or  where 
it  is  "?     It  is  on  the  road  to  us." 

"  I  hope  better." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  hoping  non- 
sense? Was  it  there  yesterday? 
Well,  then." 

"  Don't  you  be  faint-hearted,"  said 
George.  "  We  are  not  caught  yet. 
I  wonder  whether  Susan  would  say  it 
was  a  sin  to  try  and  mislead  them  ?  " 

'•  A  sin !  I  wish  I  knew  how,  I  'd 
soon  see.  That  was  a  good  notion. 
This  place  is  five  hundred  pound  a 
day  to  us.  AVe  must  keep  it  to-day 
by  hook  or  by  crook.  Come  wath  me 
quick.    Bring  your  tools  and  the  bag." 

Geortre  followed  Robinson  in  utter 
ignorance  of  his  design  ;  that  worthy 
made  his  way  as  fast  as  he  could  to- 
wards the  smoke.  When  they  got 
within  a  mile  of  it  the  valley  widened 
and  the  smoke  was  seen  rising  from 
the  side  of  the  stream.  Concealing 
themselves,  they  saw  two  men  beat- 
ing the  ground  on  each  side  like 
pointers.  Robinson  drew  back.  "They 
are  hunting  up  the  stream,"  said  he, 
*'  it  is  there  we  must  put  the  stopper 
on  them." 

They  made  eastward  for  the  stream 
which  they  had  left. 

"  Come,"  said  Robinson,  "  here  is 
a  spot  that  looks  likely  to  a  novice ; 
dig  and  cut  it  up  all  you  can." 


George  was  mystified  but  obeyed, 
and  soon  the  place  looked  as  if  men 
had  been  at  work  on  it  some  time. 
Then  Robinson  took  out  a  handful  of 
gold-dust  and  coolly  scattered  it  over 
a  large  heap  of  mould. 

"  What  are  you  at  ?  Are  you  mad, 
Tom  ?  Why,  there  goes  five  pounds. 
What  a  sin  !  " 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  the  man 
that  flung  away  a  sprat  to  catch  a 
whale  ?  Now  turn  back  to  our  hole. 
Stop,  leave  your  pickaxe,  then  they 
will  think  Ave  are  coming  back  to 
work." 

In  little  more  than  half  an  hour 
they  were  in  their  little  gully  work- 
ing like  mad.  They  ate  their  din- 
ner working.  At  five  o'clock  George 
pomted  out  to  Robinson  no  less  than 
seven  distinct  columns  of  smoke  rising 
about  a  mile  apart  all  down  the  val- 
ley, 

"  Ay  !  "  said  Robinson,  "  those  six 
smokes  are  hunting  the  smoke  that  is 


huntini 


but   we    have   screwed 


another  day  out." 

Just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  a  man 
came  into  tlie  gully  with  a  pickaxe  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Ah  !  how  d'  ye  do  ?  "  said  Robin- 
son, in  a  mock  friendly  accent.  "  We 
have  been  expecting  you.  Thank  you 
for  bringing  us  our  pickaxe." 

The  man  gave  a  sort  of  rueful 
laugh,  and  came  and  delivered  the 
pick  and  coolly  watched  the  cradle. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  what  you 
want  to  know  ?  "  said  Robinson. 

The  man  sneered.  "  Is  that  the 
way  to  get  the  truth  from  a  digger  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  It  is  from  me,  and  the  only 
one." 

"  Oh  !  then  what  are  you  doing, 
mate  ?  " 

"  About  ten  ounces  of  gold  per 
hour." 

The  man's  mouth  and  eyes  both 
opened. 

"  Come,  my  lad,"  said  Robinson, 
good-naturedly,  "  of  course  I  am  not 
glad  you  have  found  us,  but,  since  you 
are  come,   call  your  pals,  light  fires, 


304 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   M^^HT).' 


anfi  work  all  night.  To-morrow  it 
will  bo  too  hue." 

T!ic  man  whistled.  He  was  soon 
joined  hy  two  more  and  afterwards  by 
others.  The  whole  party  was  eij^ht. 
A  hurried  couU'renee  took  j)hvce,  Miid 
presently  tlie  eaptain,  whose  name 
was  Ede,  came  up  to  Rohinson  with 
a  small  barrel  of  beer  and  bei:<;ed  him 
and  his  pal  to  drink  as  much  as  they 
liked.  They  were  very  glad  of  tlie 
draught  and  thanked  the  men  warm- 
ly. 

The  new-comers  took  Robinson's 
advice,  lighted  large  fires,  divided 
their  company,  and  groped  for  gold. 
Everv  now  and  then  came  a  shout  of 
joy,  and,  in  the  liu^ht  of  the  fires,  the 
wild  figures  showed  red  as  blood 
airainst  the  black  wall  of  niirht,  and 
their  excited  eyes  glowed  liko  rar- 
buncles  as  tiiey  clawed  the  sp?.rkling 
dust.  George  and  Robinson,  fatigued 
already  by  a  .lonii;  day,  broke  down 
about  three  in  the  mornirg.  They 
reeled  into  their  tent,  dug  a  hole,  put 
in  their  gold  bag,  stampel  it  down, 
tumbled  dead  asleep  down  over  it, 
and  never  woke  till  mora. 

Gn  1  r-r-r  !  gn  I  r-rr  ! 

"  \V!:at  is  the  matfir,  Carlo  ?  " 

Gn  1  r-r-r. 

Hum  !  hum  !  hum  !    Crash !  crash  ! 

At  these  sounds  Robinson  lifted  up 
the  corner  of  his  tent.  The  gully 
was  a  digging.  He  ran  out  to  see 
where  he  was  to  work,  and  found  the 
wliole  soil  one  enormous  tan-yard,  the 
])its  ten  feet  square,  and  so  close 
there  was  hardly  room  to  walk  to 
your  hole  without  tumbling  into  your 
neijibbor's.  You  had  to  balance  your- 
sdf  and  move  like  boys  going  along 
a  beam  in  a  timber-yard.  In  one  of 
tliese  he  found  Ede  and  his  gang 
working.  Mr.  Ede  had  acquired  a 
black  eye,  ditto  one  of  his  mates. 

"  Good  mornint;.  Captain  Robin- 
BOM,"  said  this  persona<_^e,  with  a  gen- 
eral gaycty  of  countenance  that  con- 
trasted'most  drolly  with  the  mouin- 
hig  an  expressive  organ  had  gone 
into. 

"  Well,  was  I  right  ?  "  asked  Rob- 


inson, looking  ruefully  round  the 
crowded  di<;ging. 

"  You  wsre,  Captain  Robinson,  and 
thank  you  for  last  night." 

"  Well,  you  have  picked  up  my 
name  soraebow.  Now  just  tell  me 
how  you  picked  up  something  else. 
How  did  you  suspect  us  in  this  retired 
spot  1  " 

"  We  were  workinj;  just  clear  of 
ths  great  diiji^ing  by  the  side  of  the 
creek,  and  dom<r  no  good,  when  your 
';ork  came  down." 

'•  My  cork  ?  " 

"  Cork  out  of  your  bottle." 

"  I  had  no  bottle.  O  yes !  my  pal 
had  a  bottle  of  small  beer," 

"  Ay,  he  must  have  thrown  it  into 
the  creek,  for  a  cork  came  down  to 
us.  Then  I  looked  at  it  and  I  said, 
'  Here  is  a  cork  from  Moore's  store  ; 
there  is  a  party  working  up  stream  by 
this  cork.' " 

Robinson  gave  a  little  groan.  "  We 
are  never  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  gold 
digging,"  said  he. 

"  So  we  came  up  the  stream  and 
tried  several  places  as  we  camj,  but 
found  nothing,  at  last  we  came  to 
your  pickaxe  and  signs  of  work,  so 
my  lads  would  stay  and  work  there, 
and  I  let  them  an  hour  or  two, 
and  then  I  said,  '  Come  now,  lads, 
the  party  we*  are  after  is  higher 
up.'  " 

"  Now  how  couM  you  pretend  to 
know  that  ?  "  inquired  Robinson,  with 
curiosity. 

"  Easy  enough.  The  water  came 
down  to  us  thick  and  muddyish,  so  I 
knew  you  were  washinu-  up  stream." 

"  Confound  my  stupid  head,"  cried 
Robinson,  "  1  deserve  to  have  it  cut 
ort"  after  all  my  experience."  And  he 
actually  capered  with  vexation. 

"  The  best  may  make  a  mistake," 
said  the  other,  sootliingly.  "  Well, 
captain,  you  did  us  a  good  turn  last 
ni<;ht,  so  here  is  your  chiim.  We  put 
your  pal's  pick  in  it, —  here  close  to 
us,  l)h!  there  was  a  lot  that  made 
difficulties,  but  we  over  -  persuaded 
them." 

"  Indeed  !     How  ?  " 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND." 


305 


"  Gave  them  a  hldinjj,  and  promised 
fo  knock  out  any  one's  brains  that 
went  into  it.  Oh!  kindness  begets 
kindness,  even  in  a  jrold  mine." 

"  It  does,"  tried  Robinson,  "  and  the 
proof  is,  —  that  I  give  you  the  claim. 
Il(;re  come  this  way  and  seem  to  buy 
it  of  me.  All  their  eyes  are  upon 
us.  Now  split  your  gang,  and  lour 
take  my  claim.' ' 

"  Well,  that  is  good  of  you.  But 
what  will  you  do,  captain  1  Where 
shall  you  go  ?  "  And  his  eyes  be- 
trayed liis  curiosity. 

'"'  Humph  !  Well,  I  will  tell  you 
on  condition  that  you  don't  bring 
two  thousand  after  me  again.  You 
should  look  behind  you  as  well  as  be- 
fore, stupid." 

Tiiese  terms  agreed  to,  Robinson  let 
Ede  know  tliat  he  was  going  this 
moment  back  to  the  old  digging.  The 
other  was  greatly  surprised.  Rob- 
inson then  explained  that  in  the  old 
digging  gold  lay  at  various  depths 
and  was  inexhaustible  ;  that  this  af- 
ternoon there  would  be  a  rush  made 
from  it  to  Robinson's  Gully  (so  the 
spot  where  they  stood  was  already 
called)  ;  that  thousands  of  good  claims 
would  thus  by  diggers'  law  be  va- 
cated ;  and  that  he  should  take  the 
best  before  the  rush  came  back,  which 
would  be  immediately,  since  Robin- 
son's Gully  would  be  emptied  of  its 
gold  in  four  hours. 

"  So  clear  out  your  two  claims," 
said  he.  "  It  won't  take  you  two 
hours.  All  the  gold  lies  in  one  streak 
four  inches  deep.  Then  back  after 
me ;  I  '11  give  you  the  office.  I  '11 
maik  you  down  a  good  claim." 

Mr.  Ede,  who  was  not  used  to  this 
sort  of  thing  since  he  fought  for  gold, 
wore  a  ludicrous  expression  of  surprise 
and  gratitude.  Robinson  read  it 
and  grinned  superior,  but  the  look 
rendered  words  needless,  so  he  turned 
the  conversation. 

"  How  did  you  get  your  black 
eye  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  did  n't  I  tell  you  ?  Fight- 
ing with  the  blackguards  for  your 
claim." 


It  was  now  Robinson's  turn  to  bo 
touched. 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow.  Yon  and 
I  must  be  friends.  Ah  !  if  I  could 
but  get  together  about  fortv  decent 
men  like  you,  and  that  had  got  gold 
to  lose." 

"  Well,"  said  Ede,  "  why  not  ? 
Here  are  eight  that  have  got  gold  to 
lose,  thanks  to  you  and  your  own  lot, 
—  that  makes  ten.  We  could  easy 
make  up  forty  for  any  good  lay  ;  there 
is  my  hand  for  one.     What  is  it  1  " 

Robinson  took  Ede's  hand  with  a 
haste  and  an  energy  that  almost 
startled  him,  and  his  features  dark- 
ened with  an  expression  unusual  now 
to  his  good-natured  face.  "  To  put 
down  thieving  in  the  camp,"  said  he, 
sternly. 

*'  Ah  !  "  said  the  other,  half  sadly 
(the  desirableness  of  this  had  occurred 
to  him  before  now);  "but  how  are 
we  to  do  that  1  "  asked  he,  incredu- 
lously. "  The  camp  is  choke-full  of 
them." 

Robinson  looked  blacker,  uglier, 
and  more  in  earnest.  So  was  his  an- 
swer when  it  came. 

"  Make  stealing  death  by  the 
law." 

"  The  law  1     What  law  ?  " 

" Lynch !  " 

♦ 

CHAPTER  LX. 

One  evening  about  a  fortnight  after 
Robinson's  return  to  the  diggings  two 
men  were  seated  in  a  small  room  at 
Bevan's  store.  There  was  little  risk 
of  their  being  interrupted  by  any  hon- 
est digger,  for  it  was  the  middle  of 
the  day. 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,"  growled 
the  black-maned  one,  "everybody 
knows  the  lucky  rip  has  got  a  heavier 
swag  than  ever,  but  we  sha'  n't  get  it 
so  cheap,  if  we  do  at  all." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  is  on  his  guard  now,  night 
and  day,  and  what  is  more  he  has  got 
friends  in  the  mine  that  would  hang 
me  or  you  either  up  to  dry,  if  they 


106 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MKXD.' 


but  caught  us  looking  too  near  his 
tent." 

"  The  ruffians.  Well,  but  if  he 
has  Irionds  he  has  enemies." 

"  Not  so  many  ;  none  that  I  know 
of  but  you  and  me :  I  wonder  what 
he  has  done  to  you  ?  " 

The  other  waived  tliis  question  and 
replied  :  "  I  have  found  two  parties 
that  hate  him  ;  two  that  came  in  last 
week." 

"  Have  you  ?  then,  if  you  are  in 
earnest,  make  me  acquainted  with 
them,  for  I  am  weak-handed,  I  lost 
one  of  my  pals  yesterday." 

"  Indeed  !  how  ?  " 

"  They  caught  him  at  work  and 
gave  him  a  rap  over  the  head  with  a 
spade.  The  more fool  he  for  be- 
ing caught.     Here  is  to  his  memory." 

"  LTgh  !  what,  is  he,  is  he  —  " 

"  Dead  as  a  herring." 

"  Where  shall  we  all  <:o  to  ?  What 
lawless  fellows  these  diggers  are.  I 
will  bring  you  the  men." 

For  the  last  two  months  the  serpen- 
tine man  had  wound  in  and  out  the 
camp,  poking  about  for  a  villain  of 
the  darker  sort  as  minutely  as  Dioge- 
nes did  for  an  honest  man,  and  dis- 
pensing liquor  and  watching  looks  and 
words,  lie  found  rogues  galore,  and 
envious  spirits  that  wished  the  friends 
ill,  but  none  of  them  seemed  game 
to  risk  their  lives  against  two  men,  one 
of  whom  said  openly  he  would  kill 
any  stranger  he  caught  in  his  tent, 
and  wliom  some  fifty  stout  fellows 
called  Captain  Robinson,  and  were 
ready  to  take  up  his  quarrel  like  fire. 
But  at  last  he  fell  in  with  two  old  lags, 
who  had  a  deadly  grudge  against  the 
captain,  and  a  sovereign  contempt  for 
him  into  the  bargain.  By  the  aid  of 
li([uor  he  wormed  out  their  story.  This 
was  the  marrow  of  it  :  —  The  captain 
liad  been  their  ]);d,  and,  while  they 
were  all  three  cracking  a  crib,  h;id 
with  unexampled  treachery  betrayed 
them,  and  got  them  laid  by  the  heels 
for  nearly  a  year :  in  fact,  if  they  had 
not  broken  prison  they  would  not 
have  been  here  now.  In  short,  in  less 
than  half  an  hour  he  returned  with 


our  old  acfiuaintancps  brutus  and 
mephistopheles. 

These  two  came  half  reluctant,  sus- 
picious, and  reserved  :  but  at  sight  of 
Black  VVill  they  were  rAssured,  vil- 
lain was  so  stamped  on  him.  Witli 
instantaneous  sympathy  and  an  in- 
stinct of  confidence  the  three  compared 
notes,  and  showed  how  each  had  been 
aggrieved  by  the  common  enemy. 
Next  they  held  a  council  of  war,  tlie 
grand  object  of  which  was  to  hit  upon 
some  plan  of  robbing  the  friends  of 
their  new  swag. 

It  was  a  difticult  and  very  danger- 
ous job.  Plans  were  proposed  and  re- 
jected, and  nothing  agreed  upon  but 
this,  that  the  men  should  he  carefully 
watched  for  days  to  find  out  where 
they  kept  their  gold  at  night  and 
where  by  day,  and  an  attempt  timed 
and  regulated  accordingly.  ^More- 
over,  the.  same  afternoon  a  special 
gang  of  six  was  formed,  including 
Walker,  which  pitiful  fox  was  greatly 
patronized  by  the  black-maned  lion. 
At  sight  of  him,  brutus,  who  knew  him 
not  indeed  by  name  but  by  a  literary- 
transaction,  was  for  "  laying  on,"  but 
his  patron  interposed,  and,  having  in- 
quired and  heard  the  offence,  bellowed 
with  laughter,  and  condemned  the 
ex-pedler  to  a  fine  of  half  a  crown  in 
grog.  This  softened  brutus,  and  a 
harmonious  debauch  succeeded.  Like 
the  old  Egyptians  they  debated  first 
sober  and  then  drunk,  and,  to  stagger 
my  general  notion  that  the  ancients 
were  unwise,  candor  compels  me  to 
own,  it  was  while  stammering,  maud- 
ling,  stinking,  and  in  every  sense 
drunk,  that  mephistopheles  drivelled 
out  a  scheme  so  cunning  and  so  new 
as  thrcAv  everybody  and  everything 
into  the  shade.  It  was  carried  by 
hiccougliarion. 

To  work  this  scheme  mephistopheles 
required  a  lieaiitiful  large  new  tent; 
the  serpentine  m;in  bought  it.  Money 
to  feed  the  gang;  serpent  advanced 
it. 

Kobiu'^on's  t^'nt  was  about  thirty 
yards  from  hi*  elaim,  whidi  its  one 
opening   faced.     So    he   and  George 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


307 


worked  with  an  eye  ever  upon  their 
tent.  At  night  two  men  of  Robin- 
sou's  party  patrolled  armed  to  the 
teeth  ;  they  relieved  guard  every  two 
hours.  Captain  Robinson's  orders  to 
these  men,  it"  tliey  saw  anybody  doing 
anything  suspicious  after  dark,  were 
these  :  —    , 

First  fire, 
Theu  inquire. 

This  general  order  was  matter  of  pub- 
licity for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  round 
Robinson's  tent,  and  added  to  his  pop- 
ularity and  our  rascals'  perplexities. 

These  orders  had  sui'ely  the  double 
merit  of  conciseness  and  melody ; 
well,  for  all  that,  they  were  disgusting- 
ly offensive  to  one  true  friend  of  the 
captain's,  viz.  to  George  Fielding. 

*'  What  is  all  the  gold  in  the  world 
compared  with  a  man's  life  1  "  said 
he,  indignantly. 

"  An  ounce  of  it  is  worth  half  a 
dozen  such  lives  as  some  here,"  was 
the  cool  reply. 

"  I  have  heard  you  talk  very  differ- 
ent. I  mind  when  you  coufd  make 
excuses  even  for  thieves  that  were 
never  taught  any  better,  poor  unfortu- 
nate souls." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  the  captain,  a  little 
taken  aback.  "  Well,  perhaps  I  did ; 
it  was  natural,  hem,  under  the  circum- 
stances. No  !  not  for  such  thieves  as 
these,  that  have  n't  got  any  honor  at 
all." 

"  Honor,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  honor.  Look  here,  suppose 
in  my  unconverted  days  I  had  broke 
into  a  jeweller's  shop  (that  comes 
nearest  to  a  mine)  with  four  or  five 
pals,  do  you  think  I  should  have  held 
it  lawful  to  rob  my  pals  of  any  part  of 
the  swag  just  because  we  happened  to 
be  robbing  a  silversmith?  Certainly 
not ;  I  assure  you,  George,  the  punish- 
ment of  such  a  nasty,  sneaking,  dis- 
honorable act  would  be  death  in  every 
gang,  and  cheap  too.  Well,  we  have 
broken  into  Nature's  shop  here,  and 
we  are  to  rifle  her,  and  not  turn  to 
like  unnatural  monsters,  and  rob  our 
ten  thousand  pals." 


"  Thieving  is  thieving  in  my  view," 
was  the  prejudiced  reply. 

"  And  hanging  is  hanging,  —  as 
all  thieves  shall  find  if  cauglit  con- 
venient." 

"  You  make  my  flesh  creep,  Tom  : 
I  liked  you  better  when  y.ou  were 
not  so  great  a  man,  more  humble 
like ;  have  you  forgotten  when  you 
had  to  make  excuses  for  yourself ; 
then  you  had  Susan  on  your  side 
and  brought  me  round,  for  I  was  iiit- 
ter  against  theft :  but  never  so  bad  as 
you  are  now." 

"  0,  never  mind  what  I  said  in 
those  days  ;  why,  you  must  be  well 
aware  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
talking  about.  I  had  been  a  rogue 
and  a  fool,  and  I  talked  like  both  ; 
but  now  I  am  a  man  of  property,  and 
my  eyes  are  open  and  my  conscience 
revolts  against  theft,  and  the  gallows 
is  the  finest  institution  going,  and  next 
to  that  comes  a  jolly  good  prison.  I 
wish  there  was  one  in  this  mine  as  big 
as  Pentonville,  then  property  —  " 

Here  the  dialogue  Avas  closed  by 
the  demand  the  pick  made  upon  the 
man  of  property's  breath.  But  it 
rankled,  and  on  laying  down  the 
pick  he  burst  out  :  "  Well,  to  tliink 
of  an  honest  man  like  you  having  a 
word  to  say  for  thieving.  Why,  it  is 
a  despicable  trait  in  a  gold  mine.  I  '11 
go  forther,  I  '11  prove  it  is  the  sin  of 
sins  all  round  the  world.  Stolen 
money  never  thrives,  —  goes  for  drink 
and  nonsense.  Now  you  pick  and 
I  '11  wash.  Theft  corrupts  the  man 
that  is  robbed  as  well  as  the  thief ; 
drives  him  to  despair  and  drink  and 
ruin  temporal  and  eternal.  No  coun- 
try could  stand  half  an  hour  without 
law!  !  The  very  honest  would  tuiu 
thieves  if  not  protected,  and  there 
would  be  a  go.  Besides,  this  great 
crime  is  like  a  trunk  railway,  other 
little  crimes  run  into  it  an<l  out  of  it; 
lies  buzz  about  it  like  these  Austra- 
lian flies, —  drat  you!  Drimkenness 
precedes  and  follows  it,  and  perjury 
rushes  to  its  defence." 

"  Well,  Tom,  you  are  a  beautiful 
speaker." 


308 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND." 


"  I  have  n't  done  yet :  what  won- 
der it  (legrades  u  man  when  a  dof,' 
loses  his  dij^iiity  under  it.  Hehold  the 
do}^  who  has  stolen  ;  look  at  Carlo 
yesicnhiy  when  he  demeaned  liim- 
self  to  prij^  Jem's  dinner  (the  sly 
brute  won't  look  at  ours).  How 
mean  he  cut  with  his  tail  under  his 
helly,  instead  of  turninj^  out  to  meet 
folk  all  jolly  and  wat^gle-um-tail-um 
as  on  other  occasions  —  Hallo,  you, 
sir  !  what  are  you  doing  so  near  our 
tent?  "  and  up  jumped  the  man  of 
property  and  ran  cocking  a  revolver 
to  a  party  who  was  kneeling  close  to 
the  friends'  tent. 

The  man  looked  up  coolly  ;  he 
was  on  his  knees.  "  We  are  newly 
arrived  and  just  going  to  pitch,  and 
a  digger  told  us  we  must  not  come 
within  thirty  yards  of  the  captain's 
tent,  so  we  are  measuring  the  dis- 
tance." 

"  Well,  measure  it  —  and  keep  it." 

Robinson  stayed  by  his  tent  till  the 
man,  whose  face  was  strange  to  him, 
had  measured  and  marked  the 
ground.  Soon  after  the  tent  in 
question  was  pitched,  and  it  looked 
so  large  and  new  that  the  man  of 
property's  suspicions  were  lulled. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  said  he,  "  tent  is 
worth  twenty  pounds  at  the  lowest 
farthing." 

AVhile  Black  Will  and  his  gang 
were  scheming  to  get  the  friends' 
gold,  Robinson,  though  conscious 
only  of  his  general  danger,  grew  more 
and  more  nervous  as  the  bag  grew 
heavier,  and  strengthened  his  defences 
every  day. 

This  very  day  one  was  added  to 
the  cause  of  order  in  a  very  charac- 
teristic way.  I  must  first  observe 
that  Mr.  M'Lautrhlan  had  become 
George's  bailiff,  that  is,  on  discovery 
of  the  gold  he  had  agreed  to  ineor- 
pornte  George's  Hocks,  to  use  his 
ground,  and  to  account  to  him,  shar- 
ing the  profits,  and  (Jeoriie  running 
the  risks.  George  had,  however,  en- 
cumbered tlie  property  with  Abner  as 
herdsman :  that  worthy  had  come 
whining  to  him  lame  of  one  leg  from 


a  blow  on  the  head,  which  he  con- 
vinced George  Jaeky  had  given  him 
with  his  battle-axe. 

"  I  'm  spoiled  for  life  and  by  your 
savaiic.  1  have  lost  my  place  ;  do 
someihing  for  me." 

Good-hearted  George  did  as  related, 
and  moreover  promised  to  give  Jaeky 
a  hiding  if  ever  he  caught  him  a^ain. 
George's  aversion  to  bloodshed  is 
matter  of  history ;  it  was  also  his 
creed  that  a  good  hiding  did  nobody 
any  harm. 

Now  it  was  sheep-shearing  time  and 
M'Laughlan  was  short  of  hands  ;  he 
came  into  the  mine  to  see  whether 
out  of  so  many  thousands  he  could 
not  find  four  or  five  who  would  shear 
instead  of  digging. 

When  he  put  the  question  to  George, 
George  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 
'•  However,"  said  he,  "  look  out  for 
some  unlucky  ones,  that  is  your  best 
chance,  leastways  your  only  one." 

So  M'Laughlan  went  cantiily  about 
listening  here  and  there  to  the  men, 
who  were  now  at  their  dinners,  and 
he  found  Ede's  gang  grumbling  and 
growling  with  their  mouths  lull  ;  in 
short,  enjoying  at  the  same  time  a 
good  dinner  and  an  Englishman's 
grace. 

"  This  will  do,"  thought  the  Scot, 
misled  like  continental  nations  by  that 
little  trait  of  ours  ;  he  opened  the 
ball. 

"  I  *m  saying,  —  my  lads,  — will  ye 
gic  owcr  this  iceiiry  icarrk  a  icet  irhilee 
and  shear  a  wheen  sheep  to  me  ?  " 

The  men  looked  in  his  face,  then  at 
one  another,  and  the  proposal  struck 
them  as  singularly  droll.  They  burst 
out  laughing  in  his  face. 

M'Laughlan  (keeping  his  temper 
thorouq:hiy,  but  not  without  a  severe 
struggle).  "  O  fine  I  ken  I  '11  hn'e 
to  pny  a  maist  decvelieli  price  for  your 
hi'j:hnesses,  —  aweel  1 'se  pay,  —  aw 
thing  h  IS  its  price  ;  jaast  nami*  your 
wage  for  she-iriuLr  five  bunder  sheej»." 

'J'he  men  whispered  together.  The 
Scot  congratulated  himself  on  his 
success  ;  it  would  be  a  question  of 
price  after  all. 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


309 


We  -will  do  it  for  —  the  wool. 


Th' 


!     but     hoo 


muckk-  o'  til'  'oo  ?  for  yy  ken  —  " 

"  Ilo\v  iiiuckle  ?  why,  all." 

"  A'  tlie  'oo  !  ye  blackguard,  ye  're 
no  blate." 

*•  Keep  your  temper,  farmer,  it  is 
not  worth  our  while  to  shear  sheep  for 
less  than  that." 

"  De'il  ^o  wi  ye  then !  "  and  he 
moved  off  in  jrreat  dudgeon. 

"Stop,"  cried  the  captain,  "you 
and  I  are  acquainted,  —  you  lived 
out  Wellington  way,  —  me  and  anoth- 
er wandered  to  your  hut  one  day  and 
you  gave  us  our  supper." 

"  Ay,  lad,  1  mind  o'  ye  the  noo !  " 

"  The  jolliest  supper  ever  I  had,  — 
a  haggis  you  called  it." 

"  Ay,  did  I,  my  fine  lad.'  I  cookit 
it  till  ye  mysel.  Ye  meicht  help  me 
for  ane." 

"  I  will,"  said  Captain  Ede;  and  a 
conference  took  place  in  a  whisper 
between  him  and  his  men. 

"  It  is  a'  reieht  the  noo  !  "  thought 
M'Laughlan. 

"  We  have  an  offer  to  make  you," 
said  Ede,  re&pectfuUy. 

"  Let  us  hear 't." 

"Our  party  is  large;  we  want  a 
cook  for  ir,  and  we  offer  you  the  place 
in  return  for  past  kindness." 

"  Me  a  cuik,  y'  impudent  vaga- 
bond !  "  cried  the  Caledonian,  red  as 
a  turkey-cock  ;  and,  if  a  look  could 
have  crushed  a  party  of  eight,  their 
hole  had  been  their  grave. 

M'Laughlan  took  seven  ireful  steps, 

—  wide  ones, —  then  his  hot  anger 
assumed  a  cold,  sardonic  form,  he 
returned,  and  with  blighting  satire 
speered  this  question  f)y  way  of  grati- 
fying an  ironical  curiosity. 

"  An  whaat  would  ye  ha'e  the 
cheek  t'  offer  a  M'Laughlan  to  cuik 
till  ye,  you  that  kens  sae  tine  the 
price  o'  wark  ?  " 

"  Thirty  shillings." 

"  Thietty  shilling  the  week  for  a 
M'Laughlan  !  " 

"  The  week,"  cried  Ede,"  nonsense, 

—  thirty  shillings  a  day,  of  course. 
We   sell  work  for  gold,  sir,  and  we 


give  gold  for  it ;  look  here  !  "  and  he 
suddenly  hared  a  sturdy  brown  arm, 
and,  smacking  it,  cried,  •'  That  is  dirt 
where  you  come  from,  but  it  is  gold 
here." 

"  Ye  're  a  fine  lad,"  said  the  S<'ot, 
smoothly,  "  and  ye'vea  boeuy  aerm," 
adtled  he,  looking  dow^n  at  it.  "  I  'se 
no  deny  that.  I'm  thinking  — 
I  '11  just  come  —  and  cuik  till  ye  a 
wee  —  for  auld  lang  syne  —  thret- 
ty  schelln  the  day  —  an  ye  '11  buy 
the  flesh  o'  me.  l''ll  sell  it  a  hantle 
cheaper  than  thir  waridly- minded 
fleshers." 

Bref,  he  came  to  be  shorn,  and  re- 
mained to  fleece. 

He  went  and  told  George  what  he 
had  done. 

"  Hech  !  hech  !  "  whined  he,  "  thir 's 
a  maist  awfu'  come  doon  for  the 
M'Laughlans,  —  but  wha  wadna' 
stuip  to  lift  gowd  ?  " 

He  left  his  head  man,  a  country- 
man of  his  own,  in  charge  of  the 
flocks,  and  tarried  in  the  mine.  He 
gave  great  satisfaction,  except  that 
he  used  to  make  his  masters  wait  for 
dinner  while  he  pronounced  a  thun- 
dering long  benediftiou ;  but  his 
cookery  compensated  the  delay. 

Kobinson  enrolled  him  in  his  po- 
lice, and  it  was  the  fashion  openly  to 
quiz,  and  secretly  respect  him. 

Robinson  also  made  friends  with 
the  women,  in  particular  with  one  Ma- 
ry M'Dogherty,  wife  of  a  very  unsuc- 
cessful digger.  Many  a  pound  of  po- 
tatoes Pat  and  she  had  from  the  cap- 
tain, and  this  getiing  wind  secured 
the  good-will  of  the  Irish  boys. 


CHAPTER    LXL 

George  was  very  homesick. 

"Haven't  we  got  a  thousand 
pounds  apiece,  yet  1  " 

"  Hush  !  no  !  not  quite  ;  but  too 
much  ro  bawl  about." 

''Anil  we  never  shall  till  you  take 
my  advice,  and  trace  the  gold  to  its 
home  in  the  hitrh   rocks.     Here   wo 


310 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND." 


are  plodding  for  dust,  and  one  good 
nugget  would  make  us." 

"  Well  !  well !  "  said  liobinson, 
"  the  moment  the  dry  weatiier  goes 
you  shall  show  me  the  home  of  the 
gold."  Poor  George  and  his  nug- 
gets ! 

*'  That  is  a  bargain,"  said  George, 
"  and  now  I  have  something  more  to 
say.  Why  keep  so  much  gold  in  our 
teiif?  It  makes  me  fret.  I  am  for 
selling  some  of  it  to  Mr.  Levi." 

"  What,  at  three  pounds  the 
ounce  ?  not  if  I  know  it." 

"  Then  why  not  leave  it  with  him 
to  keep  ?  " 

"Because  it  is  safer  in  its  little 
hole  in  our  tent.  What  do  the  dig- 
gers care  for  Mr.  Levi  ?  You  and  I 
respeet  him,  but  I  am  the  man  they 
swear  by.  No,  George,  Tom  Weasel 
is  n't  caught  napping  twice  in  the 
same  year.  Don't  you  see  1  've  been 
working  this  four  months  past  to 
make  my  tent  safe  ?  and  I  've  done  it. 
It  is  watched  for  me  night  and  day, 
and  if  our  swag  was  in  the  Bank  of 
England  it  would  n't  be  safer  than  it 
is.  Put  that  in  your  pipe.  Well, 
Carlo,  what  is  the  news  in  your 
part  ?  " 

(?arlo  came  running  up  to  George, 
and  licked  liis  face,  Avhicli  just  rose 
above  the  hole. 

"  What  is  it,  Carlo  ?  "  asked 
George,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  other. 
*'  Here  is  the  very  dog  come  out  to 
encourage  his  faint-hearted  mit^ter." 

"  No  !  "  said  George,  "  it  can't  be 
that,  —  he  means  something,  —  be 
quiet.  Carlo,  licking  me  all  to  pieces, 
pr-  l)ut  what  it  is.  Heaven  only  knows  ; 
don't  you  encourage  him  ;  lie  has  no 
business  out  of  the  tent,  —  go  back. 
Carlo,  —  go  into  kermel,  sir  "  ;  and  off 
slunk  Carlo  back  into  the  tent,  of 
whieh  he  was  the  day  sentinel. 

"  Tom,"  remarked  G'orge,  thought- 
fully, "  I  believe  Carlo  wanted  to 
show  me  something ;  he  is  a  wonder- 
ful wise  dog." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Kobinson,  sharp- 
ly,  "  he  heard  you  at  the  old  lay 


grumbling,  and  came  to  say  cheer  up 
old  lellow." 

While  liobinson  was  thus  quizzing 
George,  a  tremendous  noise  was  .sud- 
denly heard  in  their  tent.  A  scufHe, 
—  a  tierce,  muttled  snarl,  —  and  a 
human  yell;  Aviih  a  cry,  almost  as 
loud,  the  men  bounded  out  of  tiieir 
hole,  and,  the  blood  ruiming  like 
melting  ice  down  their  backs  with 
apprehension,  burst  into  the  tent ; 
then  they  came  upon  a  sight  that  al- 
most drew  the  eyes  out  of  their  heads. 

In  the  centre  of  the  tent,  not  si.K 
inches  from  their  buried  treasure,  was 
the  head  of  a  man  emerging  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  cursing  and 
yelling,  for  Carlo  had  seized  his  head 
by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  bitten 
it  so  deep,  that  the  l»lood  literally 
squirted,  and  was  stamping  and  going 
back  snarling  and  pulling  and  hauling 
in  fierce  jerks  to  extract  ir  from  the 
earth,  while  the  burly-headed  ruffian 
it  belonged  to,  cramped  by  his  situa- 
tion, and  ]>ouiiced  on  unawares  by 
the  licry  teeth,  was  striving  and  bat- 
tling to  get  down  into  the  earth  again. 
Spite  of  his  disadvantage,  such  were 
his  strength  and  despaii-,  that  he  now 
swung  tlie  dog  backwai'ds  and  for- 
wards. But  the  men  burst  in.  George 
seized  him  by  the  hair  of  his  liead, 
Tom  by  the  shoulder,  and,  with 
Carlo's  help,  wrenched  him  on  to  tiic 
floor  of  the  tent,  where  he  was  Hung 
on  his  back  with  Tom's  revolver  at 
his  temple,  and  Cailo  tlew  round  and 
round,  barking  furiously,  and  now 
and  then  comin<;  flying  at  him  ;  on 
which  occasions  he  was  always  warded 
off  by  Grorge's  strong  arm,  and  parsed 
devious,  his  teeth  clicking  together  like 
machinery,  the  snap  and  the  rush 
being  all  one  design  that  must  succeed 
or  fail  to-retlier. 

Ca])rain  Kobinson  put  his  lips  to 
his  whi.-tle,  and  the  tent  was  full  of  his 
friends  in  a  mt>nient. 

"  (iet  me  a  bullock  rope." 

"Ay!" 

"  And  drive  a  stout  pole  into  the 
ground." 

"  Ay ! " 


"IT   IS   JJEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND. 


oil 


In  less  than  five  minutes  brutus 
was  tied  up  to  a  post  iu  the  sun,  with 
a  placard  on  liis  breast  on  which  was 
written  in  enormous  letters  — 

THIEF 
(and  underneath  in  smaller  letters — ) 

Cau<j:ht  trying  to  shake  Captain 
Eobiubon's  tent. 

i'irst  offence. 

N.  B.  —  To  be  hanged  next  time. 
Then  a  crier  was  sent  through  the 
mine  to  invite  inspection  of  brutus's 
features,  and  ere  sunset  thousands 
looked  into  his  face,  and  when  he 
tried  to  lower  it  pulled  it  savagely  up. 

"  I  shall  know  you  again,  my  lad," 
was  the  common  remark,  "and,  if  I 
catch  you  too  near  my  tent,  rope  or 
revolver,  one  of  the  two." 

Captain  Robinson's  men  did  not 
waste  five  minutes  Avith  biutus.  They 
tied  him  to  the  stake,  and  dashed  into 
their  holes  to  make  up  lost  time,  but 
Robinson  and  George  remained  quiet 
in  their  tent, 

"  George,"  said  Tom,  in  a  low,  con- 
trite, humble  voice,  "let  us  return 
thanks  to  Heaven,  for  vain  is  man's 
skill." 

And  they  did. 

"  George,"  said  Tom,  rising  from 
his  knees,  "  the  conceit  is  taken  out 
of  me  for  about  the  twentieth  time ;  I 
felt  so  strong  and  I  was  nobody.  The 
danger  came  in  a  way  I  never  dreamed, 
and  when  it  had  come  we  were  saved 
by  a  friend  I  never  valued.  Give  a 
paw.  Carlo." , 

Carlo  gave  a  paw. 

"  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  us 
this  day,"  said  George.  "  I  see  it  all 
now ;  he  must  have  heard  tlie  earth 
move  and  did  not  understand  it,  so 
he  came  for  me,  and,  when  you  would 
not  let  me  go,  lie  M'ent  back,  and  says 
he,  — '  I  dare  to  say  it  is  a  rabbit  bur- 
rowing up.'  So  he  waited  still  as 
deatii,  watching,  and  nailed  six  feet 
of  vermin  instead  of  bunny." 

Here  they  both  fell  to  caressing 
Carlo,  who  jumped  and  barked  and 
finished  with  a  pretended  onslaught 
on  the  captain  as  he  was  kneeling, 


looking  at  their  so  late  imperilled 
gold,  and  knocked  him  over  and 
slobbered  his  face  when  he  was  down. 
Opinions  varied,  but  the  impression 
was  he  knew  he  had  been  a  clever 
dog.  This  same  evening,  Jem  made 
a  collar  for  him,  on  which  was  written, 
"Policeman  C." 

The  fine  new  tent  was  entered  and 
found  deserted,  nothing  there  but  an 
enormous  mound  of  earth  that  came 
out  of  the  subterranean,  which  Rob- 
inson got  a  light  and  inspected  all 
the  way  to  its  dehonchare  in  his  own 
tent.  As  he  returned,  holding  up 
his  light  and  peering  about,  he  no- 
ticed something  glitter  at  the  top  of 
the  arch  ;  he  held  the  liuht  close  to 
it  and  saw  a  speck  or  two  of  gold 
sparkling  here  and  there.  He  took 
out  liis  knife  and  scraped  the  roof  in 
places,  and  brought  to  light  in  de- 
tached pieces  a  layer  of  gold-dust 
about  the  substance  of  a  sheet  of  blot- 
ting paper  and  full  three  yards  wide  ; 
it  crossed  the  subterranean  at  right 
angles,  dipping  apparently  about  an 
inch  in  two  yards.  The  conduct  of 
brutus  and  co.  had  been  typical. 
They  had  been  so  bent  on  theft,  that 
they  were  blind  to  the  pocketfuls  of 
honest,  safe,  easy  gold,  they  rubbed 
their  very  eyes  and  their  thick  skulls 
against  on  their  subterraneous  path  to 
danger  and  crime. 

Two  courses  occurred  to  Robinson  ; 
one  was  to  try  and  monopolize  this 
vein  of  gold,  the  other  to  take  his 
share  of  it  and  make  the  rest  add  to 
his  popularity  and  infiuence  in  the 
mine.  He  chose  the  latter,  for  the 
bumptiousness  was  chilled  in  him. 
This  second  attack  on  his  tent  made 
him  tremble. 

"  I  am  a  marked  man,"  said  he. 
"  Well,  if  I  have  enemies,  the  more 
need  to  get  friends  all  round  me." 

I  must  here  observe  that  many 
men  failed  altogether  at  the  gold 
diggings  and  returned  in  rags  and  tat- 
ters to  the  towns  ;  many  others  found 
a  little,  enough  to  live  like  a  gentle- 
man anywhere  else,  but  too  little  for 
bare  existence  in  a  place  where  an  egg 


312 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEXD.' 


cost  a  shilling;,  a  cabbajre  a  shillin*^, 
and  bakin<^  two  pounds  of  beef  one 
shilliii,ij;  and  sixpence,  and  a  pair  of 
miniiij^  boots  ei^jht  pounds,  and  u  fry- 
in;^-pan  thirty  shillin<^.s,  and  so  on. 

besides  the  hundreds  that  fell  by 
diarrhoea,  their  hands  clutcliiiig  in  vain 
the  goid  that  could  not  follow  tlieni, 
many  a  poor  fellow  died  of  a  broken 
heart  and  hardships  sutiered  in  vain, 
and  some,  long  unlucky  but  persever- 
ing, suddenly  surprised"  by  a  rich  find 
of  gold,  fell  by  the  shock  of  good  for- 
tune, went  raving  mad,  dazzled  by  the 
gold,  and  perished  miserably.  For 
here  all  was  on  a  great  heroic  scale, 
starvation,  wealth,  industry,  crime, 
retril)utioa,  madness,  and  disease. 

Now  tlie  good-natured  captain  had 
his  eye  upon  four  unlucky  men  at  this 
identical  moment. 

No.  1,  Mr.  Miles,  his  old  master, 
•who,  having  run  through  his  means, 
had  come  to  the  diggings.  He  had 
joined  a  gang  of  five  ;  they  made  only 
about  three  pounds  a  week  each,  and 
had  expelled  him,  alleging  that  his 
work  was  not  quite  up  to  their  mark. 
He  was  left  without  a  mate  and 
earned  a  precarious  livelihood  without 
complaining,  for  he  was  game,  but 
Kobinsou's  quiek  eye  and  ear  saw  his 
clothes  were  shabby  and  that  he  had 
given  up  his  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

No.  2,  Jem,  whose  mate  had  run 
away  and  robbed  him,  and  he  was  left 
solus  with  his  tools. 

No.  3,  Mr.  Stevens,  an  accomplished 
scholar,  and,  above  all,  linguist,  broad 
ill  the  forehead  but  narrow  in  the 
chest,  w!io  hid  been  successively 
rejected  by  five  gangs  and  was  now 
at  a  discount.  He  picked  up  a  few 
shillings  by  interpreting,  but  it  was  a 
suspicious  circumstance  that  he  often 
came  two  miles  from  his  end  of  the 
camp  to  see  Robinson  just  at  dinner- 
time. Then  a  look  used  to  pass  be- 
tween those  two  good-hearted  crea- 
tures, and  Mr.  Stevens  was  s^'rvcd 
first  and  Carlo  docked  till  evening. 
Tiiles  prevaileil  but  little  in  the  mine. 
They  generally  addressed  the  males  of 
our  species  thus  :  — 


"Hi!  man!" 

The  females  thus  :  — 

"  Hi !  woman  !  " 

The  Spartans  !  but  these  two  made 
an  exception  in  favor  of  tliis  re- 
duced scholar.  They  call  him  ''  Sir," 
and  felt  abashed  his  black  coat  should 
be  so  rusty;  and  they  gave  him  the 
gristly  bits,  for  he  was  not  working, 
but  always  served  him  first. 

No.  4.  Unlucky  Jack,  a  digger. 
This  man  really  seemed  to  be  unlucky. 
Gangs  would  find  the  stuff  on  ibur 
sides  of  him,  and  he  none  ;  his  last 
party  had  dissolved,  owing  they  said 
to  his  ill-luck,  and  he  was  forlorn. 
These  four  Robinson  convened,  with 
the  help  of  Mary  M'Dogherty,  who 
went  for  Stevens  ;  and  made  them  a 
little  speech,  telling  them  he  had  seea 
all  their  four  ill-lucks,  and  was  go- 
ing to  end  that  with  one  blow.  Ho 
then,  taking  the  direction  of  brutus's 
gold-vein,  marked  them  out  a  claim 
full  forty  yards  off,  and  himself  one 
close  to  them  ;  organized  them,  and 
set  them  working  in  high  spirits,  trem- 
ulous expectation,  and  a  fervor  of 
gratitude  to  him,  and  kindly  fueling 
towards  their  unlucky  comrades. 

"  You  won't  find  anyf4iing  for  six 
feet,"  said  the  captain.  "  Meantime, 
all  of  }Ou  turn  to  and  tell  the  rest 
how  you  were  the  unluckiest  man  in 
the  whole  mine,  —  till  you  fell  in  with 
me,  —  he  !  he  !  " 

And  the  captain  chuckled.  His 
elastic  vanity  was  fast  recovering  froiq 
brutus,  and  his  spirits  rising. 

Towards  evening  he  collected  his 
whole  faction,  got  on  the  top  of  two 
cradles,  made  a  speech,  thankeil  them 
for  their  good-will,  and  told  them  he 
had  now  an  opportunity  of  making 
them  a  return.  He  had  di.-?covered  a 
vein  of  gold  which  he  could  have  kept 
all  to  himself,  but  it  was  more  just 
and  more  generous  to  share  it  with 
his  partisans. 

"  Now,  pass  through  this  little  mine 
one  at  a  time,"  said  he,  "  and  look  at 
the  roof,  where  I  have  stuck  the  two 
liahted  candles,  and  then  pass  oa 
quick  to  make  room  for  others." 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


313 


Tlie  men  dived  one  after  another, 
exaiiiiuetl  the  r.iuf,  ami.  ru.slliIl^■  wildly 
out  at  iliii  other  end  in  ^leat  exeiie- 
nieiit,  ran  and  niaiked  out  eiainis  ou 
botii  sides  of  the  sui)tenMnean. 

IJut,  with  all  their  greediness  and 
eagerness,  thev  left  ten  feet  square  un- 
touehed  on  eaeh  side  the  subterranean. 

"  What  is  tliis  left  for  ?  " 

"  I'hat  is  left  for  the  clever  fellow 
that  found  the  {rold  after  a  thief  had 
missed  it,"  cried  one. 

"  And  for  the  fienerous  fellow  that 
parted  liis  find,"  roared  another,  from 
a  di.xtanee. 

Kohinson  seemed  to  reflect. 

"  No  !  I  won't  spoil  the  meat  hy 
rnttin<j  myseif  the  fat,  —  no  !  1  am  a 
dig;<i;er,  but  not  only  a  digger,  I  as- 
pire to  the  honor  of  being;  a  captain 
of  diggers  ;  my  claim  lies  out  there." 

"  ilurraii  ;  three  cheers  for  Captain 
}\obinson  !  " 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  in  re- 
turn ?  " 

*'  Hurrah  !  won't  we  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  petition  the  gov- 
ernor to  send  us  out  police  to  guard 
/)ur  teiits." 

"  Hurrah  !  " 

"  And  even  beaks,  if  necessary " 
(doubtful  murmurs).  "  And,  above 
nil,  soldiers  to  take  our  gold  safe 
down  to  Sydney." 

'•  Hnrrah  !  " 

"  Where  we  can  sell  it  at  three 
fifteen  the  ounce." 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  " 

"  Instead  of  giving  it  away  here 
for  three  pounds,  and  then  being 
robbed.  If  you  will  all  sign,  Mr. 
Stevens  and  I  will  draw  up  the  peti- 
tion ;  no  country  can  stand  without 
law  !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  Captain  Robinson,  the 
diggers'  friend." 

And  the  wild  fellows  jumped  out 
of  the  holes,  and  four  seized  the  dig- 
gers' friend,  and  they  chaired  him  in 
their  rough  way,  and  they  put  Carlo 
into  a  cradle,  and  raised  him  high, 
and  chaired  iiim  ;  and  both  man  and 
dog  were  riijrht  glad  to  get  safe  out 
of  the  precarious  honor. 
14 


The  proceedings  ended  by  brutus 
being  loosed  and  set  between  t\vi»  long 
lines  of  niiii  wiih  lumps  of  chy,  and 
pelted  and  knocked  down,  and  knocked 
up  again,  and  driven  bruised,  battered, 
and  bleeding  out  of  that  part  of  the 
camp.  He  found  his  way  to  a  little 
dirty  tent  not  much  bigger  than  a 
badger's  hole,  crawled  in,  and  sunk 
down  in  a  fainting  state,  and  lay  on 
his  back  stiff  and  fevered,  and  smart- 
ing soul  and  body,  many  days. 

And  while  Robinson  was  exulting 
in  his  skill,  his  good  fortune,  his  pop- 
ularity, his  swelling  bag,  and  the  con- 
stabulary force  he  was  collecting  and 
heading,  this  tortured  ruffian,  driven 
to  utter  desperation  by  the  exposure 
of  his  features  to  all  the  camp  with 
"  Thief "  blazing  on  him,  lay  groan- 
ing stiff  and  sore,  —  but  lived  iov  re- 
venge. 

"  Let  him  keep  his  gold, — -'I  don't 
care  for  his  gold,  now.  I  '11  have  his 
blood  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

"  I  WONDER  at  you  giving  away  the 
claim  that  lay  close  to  the  gold  fit  is 
all  very  well  to  be  generous,  but  you 
forget,  —  Susan." 

"Don't  you  l>e  silly,  George:  the 
vein  dips,  and  those  that  cut  down  on 
it  where  it  is  horizontalish  will  get  a 
little;  ,we,  that  nick  it  nearly  vertical- 
ish,  will  get  three  times  as  much  out 
of  a  ten-foot  square  claim." 

"  Well !  yon  are  a  sharp  fellow,  to 
be  sure ;  but,  if  it  is  so,  why  on  earth 
did  you  make  a  favor  to  them  of  giv- 
ing them  the  milk  and  taking  the 
cream  ?  " 

"  Policy,  George  !  policy  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXIIL 

Sunday. 

"  Tom,  I  invite  you  to  a  walk." 
"  Ay  !  ay  !  1  'd  give  twenty  pounds 
foi*  one  ;  but  the  swag  ?  " 


3U 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"Leave  it  this  one  day  with  Mr. 
Levi ;  he  has  got  two  young  men  al- 
ways armed  in  his  tent,  and  a  little 
pccvisli  dog,  and  gutta-percha  pipes 
running  into  all  tiie  Jews'  tenrs  that 
are  at  liis  back  like  chicks  inter  the 
old  hen." 

"  O,  he  is  a  deep  one." 

"  And  he  has  got  mouth-pieces  to 
them,  and  so  he  could  brin,;  thirty 
men  upon  a  thief  in  less  than  half  a 
minute." 

"  Well,  then,  George !  a  walk  is  a 
great  temptation,  this  beautiful  day." 

In  short,  by  eight  o'clock  the  gold 
was  deposited,  and  the  three  friends, 
for  Policeman  C  must  count  for  one, 
stepped  lustily  out  in  the  morning  air. 

It  was  the  month  of  January  ;  a 
blazing-hot  day  was  beginning  to  glow 
through  the  freshness  of  morning  ;  the 
sky  was  one  cope  of  pure  blue,  and 
the  soutliern  air  crept  slowly  up,  its 
wings  clogged  with  fragrance,  and 
just  tuned  the  trembling  leaves, — no 
more. 

"  Is  not  this  pleasant,  Tom,  —  is  n't 
it  sweet  ?  " 

"  1  believe  you,  George  !  and  what 
a  shame  to  run  down  such  a  country 
as  this.  There  they  come  home,  and 
tell  you  tlie  flowers  have  no  smell, 
but  they  keep  dark  about  the  trees  and 
bushes  being  haystacks  of  tiowers. 
Snntf  the  air  as  we  go,  it  is  a  tlioii- 
sand  English  gardens  in  one.  Look 
at  all  those  tea-scrubs  each  with  a 
thousand  blossoms  on  it  as  sweet  as 
honey,  and  the  golden  wattles  on  the 
other  side,  and  all  smelling  like  sev- 
en o'clock ;  after  which  flowers  be 
hanged !  " 

"Ay,  lad!  it  is  very  rcfr-shing: 
and  it  is  Sunday,  and  we  have  got 
away  from  the  wicked  for  an  hour  or 
two;  but  in  England  there  would  !)e 
a  little  white  churcli  out  yonder,  and 
a  spire  like  an  angel's  foreli;iger 
pointing  from  the  grass  to  heaven, 
and  the  lads  in  their  clean  smock- 
frocks  like  snow,  and  the  wenches  in 
their  white  stockings  and  new  shawls, 
and  the  old  women  in  their  scarlet 
cloaks  and  black  bouuets,   ail  goin^j 


one  road,  and  a  tinkle  tinkle  from 
the  belfry,  that  would  turn  all  these 
other  sounds  and  colors  and  sweet 
smells  holy,  as  well  as  fair,  on  the  Sab- 
bath morn.     Ah !     England.     Ah!  " 

"  You  will  see  her  again,  —  no  need 
to  sigh." 

"  O,  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  in 
particular  just  then." 

"  Of  who  1  " 

"  Of  Susan  I" 

"Prejudice  be  hanged,  this  is  a 
lovely  land." 

"So  'tis,  Tom,  so 'tis  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  puts  me  out  a  little  bit ; 
nothing  is  what  it  sets  up  tor  here. 
If  you  see  a  ripe  pear  and  go  to  eat  it, 

—  it  is  a  lump  of  hard  wood.  Next 
comes  a  thing  the  very  sight  of  which 
turns  your  stomach,  —  and  that  is  de- 
licious, a  loquot  for  instance.  There 
now,  look  at  that  magpie !  well,  it  is 
Australia,  —  so  that  magpie  is  a  crow 
and  not  a  magpie  at  all.  Everything 
pretends  to  be  some  old  friend  or 
other  of  mine,  and  turns  out  a  stran- 
ger. Here  is  nothing  but  surprises 
and  deceptions.  The  flowers  make  a 
])oint  of  not  smelling,  and  the  bushes 
that  nobody  expects  to  smell,  or 
wants  to  smell,  they  smelt  lovely." 

"  What  does  it  matter  where  the 
smell  comes  from,  so  that  you  get 
it?" 

"  Why,  Tom,"  replied  George, 
opening  his  eyes,  "it  makes  all  tlie 
ditference.     I  like  to  smell  a  flower, 

—  flower  is  not  compli-te  without 
smell,  —  but  I  don't  care  if  I  never 
smell  a  bush  till  I  die.  Then  the 
birds  they  laugh  and  talk  like  Chris- 
tr-.ms  ;  they  make  me  split  my  side<, 
God  bless  their  little  hearts  :  but  they 
won't  chirrup.  O  dear  no,  bless  you, 
they  leave  the  Christians  to  chirrup  — 
they  hold  conversations  and  gigcle, 
anil  laugh  and  play  a  thing  like  a  Hddle 

—  it  is  Australia  !  where  everything  is 
insidc-our  and  top^y-turvy.  The  ani- 
mals have  four  legs,  so  tlicyjunip  on 
two.  Ten-foot  square  of  rock  lets  for 
a  pound  a  month  :  ten  acres  of  grass 
for  a  shilling  a  year.  Roasted  at 
Christinas,  shiver  o'  cold  oa  midsuin- 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


315 


mer-day.  The  lakes  are  prass,  and 
the  rivirs  turn  their  hacks  on  the  sea 
and  run  into  the  lieart  of  the  hind  ; 
and  tlie  men  would  stand  on  tlieir 
hiiids,  hut  I  liave  taken  a  iliou^ht, 
and  I've  found  out  why  they  don't." 

"  Why  (  ■' 

"  Ik'cause  if  they  did  their  heads 
■wouKl  point  the  same  way  a  man's 
head  points  in  En<j:land." 

Kobiiujon  lau^^hcd,  and  told  George 
lie  admired  the  country  for  these  very 
traits.  "  Novelty  for  me  against  the 
world.  Who  'd  come  twelve  thousand 
miles  to  sec  nothing  we  could  n't  see 
at  home  ?  Hang  the  same  old  story 
always ;  where  are  we  going,  George  ?  " 

"  O,  not  much  farther,  oidy  about 
twelve  miles  from  the  camp  ?  " 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

"  To  a  fanner  I  know.  I  am  go- 
ing to  show  you  a  lark,  Tom,"  said 
(ieorge,  and  his  eyes  beamed  benevo- 
lence on  his  comrade. 

Robinson  stopped  dead  short. 
"George,"  said  he,  "no!  don't  let 
us.  I  would  rather  stay  at  home  and 
read  my  book.  You  can  go  into 
temptation  and  come  out  pure :  I 
can't.  I  am  one  of  those  that,  if  I  go 
into  a  puddle  up  to  my  shoe,  I  must 
splash  up  to  my  middle." 

"  What  ha>!  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Your  jiroposiug  to  me  to  go  in  for 
a  lark  on  the  Sabbath-day." 

"  Why,  Tom,  am  I  the  man  to 
tempt  you  to  do  evil  ?  "  asked  George, 
hurt. 

"  Why,  no  !  but,  for  all  that,  you 
proposed  a  lark." 

"  Ay,  but  an  innocent  one,  one 
more  likely  to  lift  your  heart  on  high 
than  t<i  irive  you  ill  thoutrhts." 

**  Well,  this  is  a  riddle  "  ;  and  Rob- 
inson was  intensely  puzzled. 

"  Carlo,"  cried  George,  suddenly, 
"come  here,  I  will  not  have  you 
hunting  and  tormenting  those  Kan- 
garoo rats  to-day.  I.<3t  us  all  be  at 
peace,  if  you  please.     Come  to  heel." 

The  friends  strode  briskly  on,  and 
a  little  after  eleven  f'clock  they  came 
upon  a  small  squatter's  house  and 
premises.      "  Here    we    are/'    cried 


George,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with 
innocent  delight. 

The  house  was  thatched  and  white' 
washed,  and  English  was  written  on 
it  and  on  every  foot  of  ground  round 
it.  A  furze- bush  had  been  planted 
by  the  door.  Vertical  oak  j)alings 
were  the  fence,  with  a  five-barred  gate 
in  the  middle  of  them.  From  the 
little  plantation  all  the  tnagnificent 
trees  and  shrubs  of  Australia  had 
been  excluded  with  amazing  resolu- 
tion and  consistency,  and  oak  and 
ash  reigned  safe  froiu  overtowcring 
rivals.  They  passed  to  the  back  of 
the  house,  and  there  George's  coun- 
tenance fell  a  little,  for  on  the  oval 
grass-plot  and  gravel  walk  he  found 
from  thirty  to  forty  rough  fellows, 
most  of  them  diggers. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  he,  on  reflection, 
"  we  could  not  ex})ect  to  have  it  all  to 
ourselves,  and  indeed  it  would  be  a 
sin  to  wish  it,  you  know.  Now,  Tom, 
come  this  way  ;  here  it  is,  here  it  is, 
—  there."  Tom  looked  up,  and  in  a 
gigantic  cage  was  a  light  brown  bird. 

He  was  utterly  confounded.  "  What, 
is  it  this  we  came  twelve  miles  to 
see  ?  " 


"Ay 


id  twice   twelve  would  n't 


have  been  much  to  me.' 

"  Well,  but  what  is  the  lark  you 
talked  of?" 

"  This  is  it." 

"  This  ?     This  is  a  bird." 
•   "  Well,  and  is  n't  a  lark  a  bird  ?  " 

"  O,  ay  !  I  see  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
ha ! " 

Robinson's  merriment  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  harsh  remonstrance  from 
several  of  the  diggers,  who  were  all 
from  the  other  end  of  the  camp. 

"  Hold  your cackle,"  cried  one, 

"  he  is  going  to  sing " ;  and  the 
whole  party  had  their  eyes  turned 
with  expectation  towards  the  bird. 

Like  most  sintrers,  he  kept  them 
waiting  a  bit.  But  at  last,  just  at 
noon,  when  tlie  mistress  of  the  house 
had  warranted  him  to  sing,  the  little 
feathered  exile  began  as  it  were  to 
'  tune  his  pipes.  The  savage  men 
i  gathered  round  the  cage  that  moment, 


316 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


and  amidst  a  dcAd' 'stillness  the  bird 
uttered  soihO'  very  uncertain  chirps, 
but  after  a  while  lie  seemed  to  revive 
his  memories,  and  call  his  ancient  ca 
dences  back  to  him  one  by  one,  and 
strinj^  tliem  sotto  voce. 

And  then  tlie  same  sun  that  had 
warmed  his  little  heart  at  home  came 
glowing  down  on  him  here,  and  he 
gave  music  back  for  it  more  and 
more,  till  at  last — amidst  breathless 
silence  and  glistening  eyes  of  the 
rough  diggers  hanging  on  his  voice 
—  out  burst  in  that  distant  land  his 
English  song. 

It  swelled  his  little  throat  and 
gushed  from  him  with  thrilling  force 
and  plenty,  and  every  time  he  checked 
his  song  to  think  of  its  theme,  the 
green  meadows,  the  quiet  stealing 
streams,  the  clover'he  first  soared  from, 
and  the  spring  he  sang  so  well,  a  loud 
\  sigh  from  many  a  rough  bosom,  many 
a  Avild  and  wicked  heart,  told  how 
tight  tlie  listeners  had  held  their  breath 
to  hear  him  ;  and  when  he  swelled 
with  song  again,  and  poured  witli  all 
his  soul  the  green  meadows,  the  quiet 
brooks,  the  honey  clover,  and  the  Eng- 
lish spring,  the  rugged  mouths  opened 
and  so  stayed,  and  the  shaggy  lips 
trembled,  and  more  than  one  drop 
trickled  from  fierce  unbridled  hearts 
down  bronzed  and  rugged  cheeks. 

Dulce  doinum  ! 

And  these  shaggy  men  full  of  oaths 
and  strife  and  cupiility  had  once  been 
white-headed  boys,  and  had  strolled 
al)0ut  the  English  fields  with  little  sis- 
ters and  little  brothers,  and  seen  thelark 
rise,  and  heard  him  sing  this  very  song. 
The  little  playmates  lay  in  the  church- 
yard, and  they  were  full  of  oaths  and 
drink  and  lusts  and  retnorses,  —  but 
no  note  was  chauLred  in  this  immortal 
song.  And  so  for  a  moment  or  two 
years  of  vice  rolled  away  like  a  dark 
cloud  from  the  memory,  and  the  past 
shone  out  in  the  sonij-shine  :  they  came 
back,  bright  as  the  immortal  notes  that 
lighted  them,  those  fa<led  ])ictures  and 
those  fleeted  days  ;  the  cottage,  the  old 
mother's  tears  wiien  he  left  her  with- 
out one  grain  of  sorrow  ;  the  village- 


church  and  its  simple  chimes;  the 
clover-field  hard  by  in  which  he  lay 
and  gambolled,  while  the  lark  praised 
God  overhead  ;  the  chubby  play- 
mates that  never  grew  to  be  wicked, 
the  sweet  hours  of  youth  —  and  inno- 
cence —  and  home. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  him,  mis- 
tress ?  I  will  give  you  five  pounds 
for  him." 

"  No  !  no  !  I  won't  take  five  pounds 
for  my  bird  !  " 

"  (if  course  she  won't,"  cried  an- 
other, "she  would  n't  be  such  a  flat. 
Here,  missus,"  cried  he,  "  I  '11  give  you 
that  for  him" ;  and  he  extended  a  brown 
hand  with  at  least  thirty  new  sover- 
eigns glittering  in  it. 

The  woman  trembled  ;  she  and  her 
husband  were  just  emerging  from 
poverty  after  a  hard  fii,^ht.  '*  Oh !  " 
she  cried,  ''  it  is  a  sliaine  to  tempt  a 
poor  woman  with  so  much  gold.  We 
had  six  brought  over,  and  all  died  on 
the  way  but  tliis  one  !  "  and  she  threw 
her  white  apron  over  her  head,  not  to 
see  the  glittering  bi*ibe. 

" you,  put   the  blunt   up  and 

don't  tempt  the  woman,"  was  tiie  cry. 
Another  added  :  "  Why,  you  fool,  it 
would  n't  live  a  week  if  you  had  it," 
and  they  all  abused  the  merchant : 
but  the  woman  turned  to  him  kindly 
and  said  :  — 

"  You  come  to  me  every  Sunday, 
and  he  shall  sing  to  you.  You  will 
get  more  pleasure  from  him  so,"  said 
she,  sweetly,  "  than  if  he  was  always 
by  you." 

"  So  I  will,  old  girl,"  replied  the 
rough,  in  a  friendly  tone. 

George  stayed  till  the  lark  gave  up 

singing  altogether,  and  then  he  said : 

''  Now  I  am   otf.     I   don't   want   to 

hear  bad  languaire  after  that :  let  us 

I  take  the  lark's  chirp  home  to  bed  with 

I  us  "  ;  and  they  made  otl";  and  true  it 

I  was  the  pure  strains  dwelt  upon  their 

I  spirits,  and    refreshed    and    purified 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  ^lEND. 


317 


these  sojourners  in  a  podlcss  place. 
Mcctiii;-:  tlu'sc  two  tij^ures  on  Suiulay 
arteniouii,  armed  each  with  a  double- 
barrelled  <riiii  and  a  revolver,  you 
would  never  have  p^uessed  whnt  gen- 
tle th<)ni;lits  possessed  them  wholly. 
They  talked  less  tlian  they  did  eom- 
ing,  hut  they  felt  so  quiet  and  happy. 

''  The  pretty  bird,"  purred  Geori^e 
(sceinj^  him  by  the  ear),  "I  feel  after 
him  —  there  —  as  if  I  had  just  come 
out  o'  cliurch." 

**  So  do  I,  Georj^e,  and  I  think  his 
sonj?  must  be  a  psalm,  if  we  knew 
all." 

"  That  it  is,  for  Heaven  taught  it 
him.  We  must  try  and  keep  all  this 
in  our  hearts  when  we  get  among  the 
broken  bottles,  and  foul  language, 
and  gold,"  says  George.  "  How 
sweet  it  all  smells,  sweeter  than  be- 
fore." 

"  That  is  because  it  is  afternoon." 

"  Yes  !  or  along  of  the  music  ;  that 
tune  was  a  breath  from  home  that 
makes  everything  please  me :  jiow 
this  is  the  first  Sunday  that  has 
looked,  and  smelled,  and  sounded 
Sunday." 

"  George,  it  is  hard  to  believe  the 
world  is  wicked :  everything  seems 
good,  and  gentle,  and  at  peace,  with 
heaven  and  earth." 

A  jet  of  smoke  issued  from  the 
bush,  followed  by  the  report  of  a  gun, 
and  Carlo,  who  had  taken  advantage 
of  George's  revery  to  slip  on  ahead, 
gave  a  sharp  howl,  and  spun  round 
upon  all  fours. 

"  The  scoundrels  !  "  shrieked  Robin- 
son. And  in  a  moment  his  gun  was 
at  his  shoulder,  and  he  fired  Ijoth  bar- 
rels slap  into  the  spot  whence  the 
smoke  had  issued. 

Both  the  men  dashed  up  and  sprang 
into  the  bush  revolver  in  hand,  but 
ere  they  could  reach  it  the  dastard 
had  run  for  it ;  and  the  scrub  was  so 
thick,  pursuit  was  hopeless.  The 
men  returned  full  of  anxiety  for 
Carlo. 

The  dog  met  them,  his  tail  between 
his  legs,  but  at  sight  of  George  he 
wagged  his  tail,  and  came  to  him  and 


licked  George's  hnnd,  nnl  ^valked  on 
with  them,  lickio;*.  G^-or^e's  hand, 
every  now  and  then-^-^^-^^— - 

"  Look,  T'om,  he  is  as  sensible  as  a 
Christian.  He  knows  the  shot  was 
meant  for  him,  though  they  did  n't 
hit  him." 

By  this  time  the  men  had  got  out 
of  the  wood,  and  ])ursued  their  road, 
but  not  with  tranquil  hearts.  Sunday 
ended  with  the  noise  of  that  coward's 
gun.  They  walked  on  hastily,  guns 
ready,  fingers  on  trigger :  at  war. 
Suddenly  Kobinson  looked  back,  and 
stopped,  and  drew  George's  attention 
to  Carlo.  He  was  standing  with  all 
his  four  legs  wide  apart,  like  a  statue. 
George  called  him  ;  he  came  directly, 
and  was  for  licking  George's  hand, 
but  George  pulled  him  about,  and  ex- 
amined him  all  over. 

"  I  wish  they  may  not  have  hurt 
him  after  all,  the  butchers  ;  they  have 
too.  See  here,  Tom,  here  is  one 
streak  of  blood  on  his  belly,  notliing 
to  hurt,  though,  I  do  hope.  Never 
mind,  Carlo,"  cried  George,  "it  is 
only  a  single  shot  by  what  I  can  see, 
't  is  n't  like  when  Will  put  the  whole 
charge  into  you,  rabbit-shooting,  is  it. 
Carlo  ?  No,  says  he  ;  we  don't  care 
for  this,  do  we.  Carlo  ?  "  cried  George, 
rather  boisterously. 

"  Make  him  go  into  that  pool, 
there,"  said  Robinson;  "then  he 
won't   have  fever." 

"  I  will ;  here —  cess !  cess  ! "  He 
threw  a  stone  into  the  pool  of  water 
that  lay  a  little  off  tlie  road,  and 
Carlo  went  in  after  it  without  hesita- 
tion, though  not  with  his  usual  alacri- 
ty :  after  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
recover  the  stone  he  swam  out  lower 
down,  and  came  back  to  the  men  and 
wagged  his  tail  slowly,  and  walked 
behind  George. 

They  went  on. 

"  Tom,"  said  George,  after  a  pause, 
"T  don't  like  it." 

"  Don't  like  what  ?  " 

"  He  never  so  much  as  shook  him-' 
self." 

"What  of  that?  He  did  shake 
himself,  I  should  say." 


818 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


"  Not  as  should  be.  Who  ever 
saw  a  dot,'  come  out  of  the  water  and 
not  shake  himself?  Carlo,  hie,  Car- 
lo !  "  and  Georg'e  threw  a  stone  aIoi)<; 
the  trround,  after  whieh  Carlo  trotted; 
but  his  limbs  seemed  to  work  stitHy  ; 
the  stone  spun  round  a  sharp  corner 
in  the  road,  the  dog  followed  it. 

"  lie  will  do  now,"  said  Robinson. 

They  walked  briskly  on.  On  turn- 
ing the  corner  they  found  Carlo  sit- 
ting up  and  shivering,  with  the  stone 
between  his  paws. 

"  We  must  not  let  him  sit,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  keep  his  blood  warm.  I  don't 
think  we  ought  to  have  sent  him  into 
the  water." 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  George, 
gloomily.  "  Carlo,"  cried  he,  cheer- 
fully, "  don't  you  be  down-hearted  ; 
there  is  nothing  so  bad  as  faint- 
heartedness for  man  or  beast.  Come, 
np  and  away  ye  go,  and  shake  it  off 
like  a  man." 

Carlo  got  up  and  wagged  his  tail 
in  answer,  but  he  evidently  was  in  no 
mood  for  running ;  he  followed  lan- 
guidly behind. 

"  Let  us  get  home,"  said  Robin- 
son ;  "  there  is  an  old  pal  of  mine 
that  is  clever  al)out  dogs,  he  Avill  cut 
the  shot  out  if  there  is  one  in  him, 
and  give  him  some  physic." 

The  men  strode  on,  and  each,  to 
hide  his  own  uneasiness,  chatted 
about  other  matters  ;  but  all  of  a 
sudden  Robinson  cried  out,  "  Why, 
where  is  the  dog  1  "  They  looked 
back,  and  there  was  Carlo  some  sixty 
yards  in  the  rear,  but  he  was  not  sit- 
ting this  time,  he  was  lying  on  his 
belly. 

"  Oh !  this  is  a  bad  job,"  cried 
George.  The  men  ran  up  in  real 
alarm  ;  Carlo  wagged  his  tail  as  soon 
as  they  came  near  him,  but  he  did 
not  get  up. 

"  Carlo,"  cried  George,  despairing- 
ly, "  you  would  n't  do  it,  }  ou  could  n't 
^  think  to  do  it.  O  my  dear  Carlo,  it 
--0  is  only  making  u])  your  mind  to  live  ; 
/  keep  up  your  heart,  old  fellow  ;  don't 
/  go  to  leave  us  alone  among  these  vil- 
N.  lains.     My  poor,  dear,  darling  dog  ! 


S>  no !  he  won't  live,  he  can't  live ; 
see  how  dull  his  poor,  dear  eye  is  get- 
ting. O  Carlo  !  Carlo  !  " 
i  At  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice 
In  such  distress.  Carlo  whimpered, 
and  then  he  began  to  stretch  his  limbs 
out.  At  the  sight  of  this,  Robinson 
cried,  hastily  :  — 

"  Rub  him,  George ;  we  did  wrong 
to  send  him  into  the  water." 

George  rubbed  him  all  over.  After 
rubbing  him  awhile,  he  said  :  — 

"  Tom,  I  seem  to  feel  him  turning 
to  dead  under  my  hand." 

George's  hand  in  rubbing  Carlo 
came  round  to  the  dog's  shoulder, 
then  Carlo  turned  his.  head  and  for 
the  third  time  began  to  lick  George's 
hand.  George  let  him  lick  his  hand, 
and  gave  up  rubbing  him,  for  where 
was  the  use  1  Carlo  never  left  off 
licking  his  hand,  but  feebly,  very  fee- 
bly, more  and  more  feebly. 

Presently,  even  while  he  was  lick- 
ing his  hand,  the  poor  thing's  teeth 
closed  slowly  on  his  loving  tongue, 
and  then  he  could  lick  the  beloved 
hand  no  more.  Breath  fluttered 
about  his  body  a  little  while  longer ; 
but  in  truth  he  had  ceased  to  live 
when  he  could  no  longer  kiss  his  mas- 
ter's hand. 

And  so  the  poor  single-hearted 
soul  Avas  gone. 

George  took  it  up  tenderly  in  his 
arms.  Robinson  made  an  effort  to 
console  him. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  if  you 
please,"  said  George,  gently,  but 
quickly.  He  carried  it  home  silently, 
and  laid  it  silently  down  in  a  corner 
of  the  tent. 

Robinson  made  a  fire  and  put  some 
steaks  on,  and  made  George  slice 
some  potatoes  to  keep  him  from  look- 
ing always  at  what  so  little  while 
since  was  Carlo.  Then  they  sat 
down  silently  and  gloomily  to  dinner, 
it  was  long  past  their  usual  hour  and 
they  were  workiugmen.  Until  we 
die  we  dine,  come  what  may.  The 
first  pai't  of  the  meal  passed  in  deep 
silence.  Then  Robinson  said  sad- 
ly:- 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   JIEND." 


319 


"Wc  will  pro  liomc,  Georfjc.  I  fall 
into  your  wisiies  now.  Gold  can't 
}>ay  for  what  we  <^o  tlnou<,^li  in  this 
Iicilish  j)la(e." 

"  Not   it,"    replied    George,    quict- 

Jy. 

"  We  arc  surrounded  by  enemies." 

"  Scenis  so,"  was  the  reply,  in  a 
very  languid  tone. 

"  Labor  by  day  and  danger  by 
night." 

"  Ay,"  but  in  a  most  indifferent 
tone. 

**  And  no  Sabbath  for  us  two." 

"  No ! " 

"  I  '11  do  my  best  for  you,  and  when 
we  have  five  hundred  pounds  more 
you  shall  go  home  to  Susan." 

"  Thank  you.  lie  was  a  good 
friend  to  us  that  lies  there  under  my 
coat ;  he  used  to  lie  over  it,  and  then 
who  dare  touch  it  ^  " 

"No!  but  don't  give  way  to  that, 
George,  —  do  eat  a  bit,  it  will  do  you 
good." 

"  I  will,  Tom,  I  will.  Thank  you 
kindly.  Ah  !  now  I  see  why  he  came 
to  me  and  kept  licking  my  hand  so 
the  moment  he  got  the  hurt.  He  had 
more  sense  than  we  had  ;  he  knew 
he  and  I  were  to  part  that  hour  :  and 
I  tormented  his  last  minutes  sending 
him  into  the  water  and  afrer  stones, 
when,  the  poor  thinjr  wanted  to  be 
bidding  me  good  by  all  tJie  while.  O 
dear  !  0  dear!  "  and  G<'orge  pushed 
his  scarce-tasted  dinner  from  him,  and 
left  the  tent  hurriedly,  his  eyes  thick 
with  tears. 

Thus  ended  this  human  day  so 
happily  begun  :  and  thus  the  poor 
do'^  I»aid  the  price  of  fid..'lity  this  Sun- 
day Jifternoon. 

Siste  viator  itpr,  —  and  part  with 
poor  Carlo,  —  for  whom  there  arc 
now  no  more  little  passing  troubl-s, 
—  no  more  little  simple  joys.  His 
duty  is  poiformcd,  his  rice  is  run  : 
p  -ace  be  to  him,  an-i  to  all  simide  and 
devoted  hearts.  Ah  me !  how  rare 
they  are  among  men  ! 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Tom,  if 
yon  please  1  " 


"  Laying  down  a  gut  line  to  trip 
them  up  when  they  get  into  our 
tent." 

'«  When  —  who  ?  " 

"Those  that  shot  Carlo." 

"They  won't  venture  near  me." 

"  Won't  they  1  What  was  the  dog 
shot  for?  They  will  come, — and 
come  to  their  death  ;  to-night  1  hope. 
Let  them  come !  you  will  hear  me 
cry  '  Carlo '  in  their  ears  as  I  put  my 
revolver  to  their  skulls  and  puU  the 
trigger."    • 

George  said  nothing,  but  he 
clenched  his  teeth.  After  a  pause  ho 
muttered,  "  We  should  pray  against 
such  thoughts." 

Robinson  was  disappointed,  no  at- 
tack was  made  ;  in  fa<;t,  even  if  such  a 
thing  was  meditated,  the  captain's 
friends  watched  his  tent  night  and 
day,  and  made  such  a  feat  a  fool- 
hardy enterprise,  full  of  danger  from 
without  and  within. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  week  a 
good  deal  of  rain  fell  and  filled  many 
of  the  claims,  and  caused  much  inac- 
tion and  distress  among  the  diggers, 
and  Robinson  guarded  the  tent,  and 
wrote  letters  and  studied  Australian 
poHtics,  with  a  view  to  being  shortly 
a  member  of  congress  in  these  parts, 
George  had  his  wish  at  last  and 
cruised  about  looking  for  the  home  of 
the  gold.  George  recollected  to  have 
seen  what  he  described  as  a  river  of 
quartz  sixty  feet  broad,  and  running 
between  two  black  rocks.  It  ran  in 
his  head  that  gold  in  masses  was  there 
locked  up,  for,  argued  he,  all  the  nug- 
gets of  any  size  I  hav«!seen  were  more 
thai\half  quartz.  Robinson  had  given 
up  debating  the  point. 

George  was  uneasy  and  out  of  spir- 
its at  not  hearing  from  Susan  for  sev- 
eral months,  and  Robinson  was  for 
indulging-  him  in  ev  i-yrhing. 

Poor  Gioii:e !  he  could  not  even 
find  his  river  of  (piartz.  And  when 
he  used  to  come  home  day  afrer  day 
empty-handed  and  with  this  confes- 
sion, the  other's  lips  used  to  twitch 
with  the  hard  struggle  not  to  laugh 
at  him  ;  and  he  used  to  see  the  strug- 


120 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


pie  and  be  secretly  more  annoyed  than 
if  he  hiid  been  lauL^licd  out  at. 

One  afternoon  Tom  Robinson,  in- 
ternally dcspisiii;;  the  whole  thiiijr, 
and  })erfeetly  sure  in  his  own  mind 
that  there  was  no  river  of  quartz,  but 
paternal  and  indulj^etit  to  his  friend's 
one  weakness,  said  to  him  :  — 

"  I  Ml  tell  you  how  to  tind  this  river 
of  quartz,  if  it  is  anywhere  except  in 
your  own  head." 

"  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you. 
How?" 

"  Jem  has  come  back  to  camp,  and 
he  tells  me  that  Jacky  is  encamped 
with  a  lot  more  close  to  the  gully  he 
is  working,  —  it  was  on  the  other  side 
the  l)ush  there,  —  and  Jacky  inquired 
very  kind  after  you." 

"  The  little  viper." 

"  He  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  Jem 
tells  me ;  and  says  he,  '  Me  come  and 
see  George  a  good  deal  soon/  says 
he." 

"If  he  does,  George  will  tan  his 
black  hide  for  him." 

"  What  makes  you  hold  spite  so 
long  against  poor  Jacky  ?  " 

"He  is  a  little  sneaking  varmint." 

"  Pie  knows  every  part  of  this 
country,  and  he  would  show  you  '  the 
home  of  the  gold,'  "  observed  KolJin- 
son,  restraining  his  merriment  with 
great  difficulty. 

Tins  cock  would  not  fight,  as  vul- 
gar wretches  say.  Jacky  had  rather 
mortified  George  by  deserting  him 
upon  the  first  discovery  of  gold.  "  Dis 
a  good  deal  stupid,"  was  that  worthy's 
remark  on  the  second  day.  "  Wlien 
I  hunt  tings  run,  and  I  run  behind 
and  catch  dem.  You  hunt  —  it  not 
run  —  yet  you  not  catch  it  always. 
Dat  a  good  deal  stupid.  Before  we 
hunt  gold  you  do  many  tings,  now 
do  one  :  dat  a  good  deal  stupid.  Be- 
fore, you  go  so  (erecting  a  forefin- 
ger) :  now  you  always  so  (crooking 
it).  Dat  too  stupid."  And  with 
this — whir!  my  lord  was  otf  to  the 
woods. 

On  the  head  of  this  came  Abner 
limping  in,  and  told  how  a  savage 
had   been    seen    creeping   after   him 


with  a  battle-axe,  and  how  he  hnd 
lain  insensible  for  days,  and  now  was 
lame  for  life.  George  managed  to 
forgive  Jacky's  unkind  desertion, 
but  for  creeping  after  Ai)ner  and 
"spoiling  him  for  life,"  to  use  Abner's 
phrase,  lie  vowed  vengeance  on  that 
black  hide  and  heart. 

Now  if  the  truth  must  be  lold, 
Jacky  had  come  back  to  the  camp 
with  Jem,  and  would  have  man  bed 
before  this  into  George's  tent.  But 
Robinson,  knowing  how  angry  George 
was  with  him,  and  not  wisiiing  either 
Jacky  to  be  licked  or  George  to  be 
tomahawked,  insisted  on  his  staying 
with  Jem  till  he  had  smoothed  down 
his  friend's  indignation,  hoon  after 
this  dialogue  Eobinson  slipped  out, 
and  told  Jacky  to  stay  with  Jem  und 
keep  out  of  George's  way  for  a  day 
or  two. 

And  now  the  sun  began  to  set  red 
as  blood,  and  the  place  to  sparkle  far 
and  wide  with  the  fiery  rays  emitted 
from  a  hundred  thousand  bottles  that 
lay  sown  broadcast  over  the  land ; 
atid  the  thunder  of  the  cradles  ceased, 
and  the  accordions  came  out  all  over 
five  miles  of  gold  mine.  Their  gen- 
tler strains  lasted  till  the*un  left  the 
sky  ;  then,  just  at  dusk,  came  a  tre- 
mendous discharge  of  musketry  roar- 
ing, rattling,  and  re-echoing  among 
the  rocks.  This  was  tens  of  thousands 
of  diggers  discharging  their  muskets 
and  revolvers  previous  to  reloading 
them  for  the  night;  for,  calm  as  the 
sun  had  set  to  the  music  of  accordions, 
many  a  deadly  weapon  they  knew 
would  be  wanted  to  defend  life  and 
gold  ere  that  same  tranquil  sun  should 
rise  again. 

Thus  the  tired  army  slept ;  not  at 
their  ease,  like  other  armies,  guarded 
by  sentinels  and  pickets,  but  every 
man  in  danger  every  night  and  every 
hour  of  it.  Each  man  lay  in  his 
clothes  with  a  weapon  of  death  in  liis 
hand  ;  Bobinson  with  twD,  a  revolver, 
and  a  cutlass  ground  like  a  razor. 
Outside  it  was  all  calm  and  peaceful. 
No  boisterous  revelry,  —  all  .seemed 
to  sleep    innocent   and   calm  in   the 


«  IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


321 


moonlight  after  the  day  of  herculean 
toil. 

Pcrh;ip.s  if  any  one  eye  could  have 
visited  the  whole  enormous  camp,  the 
children  of  theft  and  of  the  niglit 
might  have  I)ei.n  seen  prowling  and 
crawling  from  one  bit  of  shade  to 
another.  But  in  the  part  where  our 
friends  lay  the  moon  revealed  no  hu- 
man figures  hut  Koljinson's  patrol, 
three  men,  w!io  with  a  dark-lantern 
and  armed  to  the  teeth  went  their 
rounds  aiul  guarded  forty  tents,  above 
all  tlie  captain's.  It  was  at  his  tent 
that  guard  was  relieved  every  two 
hours.  So  all  was  watched  the  live- 
long night. 

Two  pointed  rocks  connected  at 
the  base  faced  the  captain's  tent. 
The  silver  rays  struck  upon  their 
foreheads  wet  with  the  vapors  of 
night,  and  made  them  like  frost  seen 
through  phos])horus.  It  was  star- 
tling. The  soul  of  silver  seemed  to 
be  sentinel  and  eye  the  secret  gold 
below. 

And  now  a  sad,  a  miserable  sound 
grated  on  the  ear  of  night.  A  lugu- 
brious quail  doled  forth  a  grating,  dis- 
mal note  at  long  but  measured  inter- 
vals, offending  the  ear  and  depressing 
the  heart.  This  was  the  only  sound 
Nature  aflforded  for  hours.  The 
neighboring  bu>h,  though  crammed 
with  the  merriest  souls  that  ever 
made  feathers  vibrate  and  dance  with 
song,  was  like  a  tomb  of  black  mar- 
ble ;  not  a  sound,  —  only  this  little 
raven  of  a  (juail  tolled  her  harsh,  lu- 
gu!)rious  crake. 

Those  whose  musical  creed  is  Time 
before  Sentiment  might  have  put  up 
with  this  nig!it-I)ird;  for  to  do  her 
justice  she  was  a  perfect  timist, — 
one  crake  in  a  bar  the  livelong  night ; 
but  her  tune,  —  ugh  !  She  was  the 
mother  of  all  files  that  play  on  iron 
throughout  the  globe,  —  Crake  ! 
—  crake  !  —  crake  !  untuning  the 
night. 

An    eye    of    red    light    suddenly 

opened    in    the    silver   stream    shows 

three  men  standing  by  a   snowy  tent. 

It  is  the  patrol  waiting  to  be  relieved. 

14* 


Three  more  figures  emerge  from  the 
distant  shade  and  join  them.  Tho 
first  three  melt  into  the  shade. 

Crake  ! 

The  other  three  remain  and  mut- 
ter.    Now  tiiey  start  on  their  rounds. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  mutters  one. 

"  I  '11  go  and  see."     Click. 

"  Well !  " 

"  O,  it  is  only  that  brown  donkey 
that  cruises  about  here.  She  will 
break  her  neck  in  one  of  the  pits 
some  day." 

"  Not  she.  She  is  not  such  an 
ass." 

These  three  melted  into  the  night, 
going  their  rounds  ;  and  now  nothing 
is  left  in  sight  but  a  thousand  cones 
of  snow,  and  the  donkey  paddling 
carefully  among  the  pits. 

Craake  ! 

Now  the  donkey  stands  a  moment 
still  in  the  moonlight,  —  now  he  pad- 
dles slowly  away  and  disappears  on 
the  dark  side  the  captain's  tent. 
What  is  he  doing  1  He  stoops,  —  he 
lies  down,  —  he  takes  off  his  head  and 
skin,  and  lays  them  down.  It  is  a 
man  !  He  draws  his  knife  and  puts 
it  between  his  teeth,  A  pistol  is  in 
his  hand,  —  he  crawls  on  his  stomach, 

—  the  tent  is  between  him  and  the 
patrol.     His  hand  is  inside  the  tent, 

—  he  finds  the  opening  and  wind_s 
like  a  serpent  into  the  tent. 

Craake ! 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

Black  Will  no  sooner  found 
himself  inside  the  tent  than  he  took 
out  a  dark- Ian  tern  and  opened  the 
slide  cautiously.  There  lay  in  one 
corner  the  two  men  fast  asleep  side 
by  side.  Casting  the  glare  around 
he  saw  at  his  feet  a  dog  with  a  chain 
round  him.  It  startled  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, —  but  only  for  a  moment.  He 
knew  that  dog  was  dead,  mephisto- 
pheles  had  told  him  within  an  hour 
after  the  feat  was  performed.  Close 
to  his  very  hand  was  a  pair  of  miner's 
boots.  lie  detached  them  from  the 
u 


322 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


canvas  and  passed  them  out  of  the 
tent;  and  now  looking  closely  at  the 
ground  he  observed  a  place  where  tlie 
soil  seeujcd  loose,  liis  eye  flashed 
with  triumph  at  this.  He  turned  u]) 
the  opcnin;:s  of  tlie  tent  behind  him 
to  make  his  retreat  clear  if  necessary. 
He  made  at  once  for  the  loose  soil, 
and  the  moment  he  moved  forward 
Robinson's  gut-lines  twisted  his  feet 
from  under  him.  He  fell  headlong 
in  the  middle,  and  half  a  dozen  little 
bells  rang  furiously  at  the  sleepers' 
heads. 

Up  jumped  Tom  and  George, 
weapons  in  hand,  but  not  before  Black 
Will  had  wrenched  himself  clear  and 
bounded  back  to  the  door.  At  the 
door,  in  his  rage  at  being  balked,  he 
turned  like  lightning  and  levelled  his 
pistol  at  Robinson,  who  was  coming 
at  him  cutlass  in  hand.  The  ex- 
thief  dropped  on  his  knees  and  made 
a  furious  upward  cut  at  his  arm.  At 
one  and  the  same  moment  the  pistol 
exploded  and  the  cutlass  struck  it 
and  knocked  it  against  the  other  side 
of  the  tent:  the  bullet  passed  over 
Robinson's  head.  Bhick  Will  gave 
a  yell  so  frightful  that  for  a  moment 
it  paralyzed  the  men,  and  even  with 
this  yell  he  burst  backward  through 
the  opening,  and  with  a  violent 
wrench  of  his  left  hand  brought  the 
whole  tent  down  and  fled,  leaving 
George  and  Robinson  struggling  in 
the  canvas  like  cats  in  an  empty 
flour-sack. 

The  baffled  burglar  had  fled  but  a 
few  yards,  when,  casting  his  eye  back, 
he  saw  their  helplessness.  Losing 
danger  in  hatred  he  came  ba(  k,  not 
now  to  rob,  but  murder,  his  left  hand 
lifted  high  and  gleamins:  like  his  cruel 
eye.  As  he  prepared  to  plunge  liis 
knife  through  the  canvas,  flash  bang ! 
flash  bang  !  bang  !  came  three  pistol- 
shots  in  his  face  from  the  patrol,  who 
were  running  right  slap  at  him  not 
thirty  yards  off',  and  now  it  was  life 
or  death.  He  turned  and  ran  for  his 
life,  the  patrol  blazing  and  banging 
at  him.  Eighteen  shots  they  flred  at 
him,   one   after  another  ;  more  than 


one  cut  his  clothes,  and  one  went 
clean  through  his  hat,  but  Ire  was  too 
fleet,  he  di>tanced  them  ;  but  at  the 
reports  diggers  peeped  out  of  distant 
tents,  and  at  sight  of  him  running, 
flash  bang  went  a  pistol  at  him  from 
every  tent  he  passed,  and  George  and 
Robinson,  who  had  struggled  out  into 
the  night,  saw  tiie  red  flashes  issue, 
and  then  heard  the  loud  reports  bel- 
low and  re-echo  as  he  dodged  about 
down  the  line,  and  then  all  was  still 
and  calm  as  death  under  the  coUl 
pure  stars. 

Craake  ! 

They  put  up  their  tent  again.  The 
patrol  came  panting  back.  "  He  has 
got  off",  —  but  he  carried  some  of  our 
lead  in  him.  Go  to  bed,  captain,  we 
won't  leave  your  tent  all  night." 

Robinson  and  George  lay  down 
again  thus  guarded.  The  patrol  sat 
by  tlie  tent :  two  slept,  one  loaded 
the  arms  again  and  watched.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  friends  were  actually 
fast  asleep  again,  lying  silent  as  the 
vast  camp  lay  beneath  the  silver 
stars. 

Craake  ! 

And  now  it  was  cold,  much  colder 
than  before,  darker  too,  -no  moon 
now,  only  the  silver  stars  ;  it  makes 
one  shiver.  Nature  seemed  to  lie 
stark  and  stiff  and  dead,  and  that 
accursed  craake  her  dirge.  All  tended 
to  shivering  and  gloom.  Yet  a  great 
event  approached. 

Craake  ! 

A  single  event,  a  thousand  times 
weightier  to  the  world,  each  time  it 
comes,  than  if  with  one  fell  stroke  all 
the  kingdoms  of  the  globe  became 
repul)lics  and  all  the  republics  em- 
pires, so  to  remain  a  thousand  years. 
An  event  a  hundred  times  more  beau- 
tiful than  any  other  thing  the  eye 
can  hope  to  see  while  in  the  flesh,  yet 
it  regaled  the  other  senses  too  and 
blessed  the  universal  heart. 

Before  this  prodigious  event  came 
its  little  heralds  sweeping  across  the 
f;ice  of  night.  First  came  a  little 
motion  of  cold  air,  —  it  was  dead- 
still    before ;     then     an    undefinable 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   I\IEXD.' 


32^ 


freshness  ;  then  a  very  sHjrht  but 
nitlur  <;nitelul  smell  from  the  soil 
of  tlie  eonsc-ii)us  earth.  Next  twit- 
tered from  the  bush  one  little  hesitut- 
in;j:  ehip. 

Cr;i:ike  !  went  the  lugubrious  quail, 
pooli-poohin-r  tlie  sugi^estion.  Then 
sotneliow  rock'^  and  forest  and  tents 
seemed  less  indistinrt  in  shape  ;  out- 
lines peeped  where  masses  had  been. 

Jujj:  !  jug  !  went  a  hirtl  with  a  sweet 
jurgle  in  his  deep  throat.  Craake  ! 
went  the  ill-onu-ned  one  directly,  dis- 
puting the  last  inch  of  nature.  But 
a  gray  thrush  took  up  the  brighter 
view  ;  otock  otock  tock  !  o   tuee  o  o  ! 

0  tuee  o  o  !  o  chio  chee  !  o  chio  chee  ! 
sang  the  thrush,  with  a  decision  as 
well  as  a  melody  that  seemed  to  say  : 
"  Ah  !  but  I  am  sure  of  it  ;  I  am  sure, 

1  am  sure,  wake  up,  joy  !  joy  !  " 
From   that  moment   there  was  no 

more  craake :  the  lugubrious  quail 
shut  up  in  despair,  perhaps  in  dis- 
dain.* and  out  gurgled  another  jug! 
jng  I  jug!  as  sweet  a  chuckle  as  Na- 
ture's sweet  voice  ever  uttered  in  any 
land  ;  and  with  that  a  mist  like  a  white 
sheet  came  to  light,  but  only  for  a 
moment,  for  it  dared  not  stay  to  be 
inspected,  "  I  know  who  is  coming, 
I  'm  off,"  and  away  it  crept  off  close 
to  the  ground,  —  and  little  drops  of 
dew  peeped  sparkling  in  the  frost- 
powdered  grass. 

Yock  I  yock  !  O  chio  faliera  po  ! 
Otock  otock  tock  !  o  chio  chee  !  o  chio 
chee  ! 

Jug  !  jug  !  jug !  jug  ! 

Olf  we  go  !  off  we  go  ! 

And  now  a  thin  red  streak  came  in- 
to the  sky,  and  perfume  burst  from 
the  bushes,  and  the  woods  rang,  not 
only  with  songs  some  shrill  some  as 
sweet  as  honey,  but  with  a  grotesque 
yet  beautiful  electric  merriment  of 
birds  that  can  only  be  heard  in  this 
land  of  wonders.  The  pen  can  give 
but  a  shadow  of  the  drollery  and 
devilry  of  the  sweet,  merry  rogues 
that  hailed  the  smiling  morn.  Ten 
thousand  of  them,  each  with  half  a 

■  *  Like  anonymous  detraction  before  vox 
populi. 


dozen  songs,  besides  chattering  and 
talking  and  imitating  the  tiddle,  the 
tife,  and  the  trom!)one.  Niel  gow ! 
niel  gow  !  niel  gow  !  whined  a  leather- 
head.  Take  care  o'  my  hat !  cries  a 
thrush,  in  a  soft,  melancholy  voice  ; 
then  with  frightful  harshness  and 
severity,  where  is  your  bacca-box  ! 
your  box  !  your  box  !  then  before  any 
one  could  answer,  in  a  tone  that  said 
devil  may  care  where  the  box  is  or 
anything  else,  gyroe  de  doc  !  gyroc  do 
doc!  roc  de  doc!  cheboc  ch' hoc ! 
Then  came  a  tremendous  cackle  end- 
ing with  an  obstreperous  boo  !  hoo  ! 
ha  !  from  the  laughing  jackass,  who 
had  caught  sight  of  the  red  streak 
in  the  sky,  —  harbinger,  like  him- 
self, of  morn  ;  and  the  piping  crows 
or  whistling  magpies  modulating  and 
humming  and  chanting,  not  like  birds, 
but  like  practised  musicians  with  rich 
baritone  voices,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment creaking  just  for  all  the  world 
like  Puneli,  or  barking  like  a  pug 
dog.  And  the  delicious  thrush  with 
its  sweet  and  mellow  tune.  Noth- 
ing in  an  English  wood  so  honey- 
sweet  as  his  otock  otock  tock  !  o  tuee 
o  o  !  o  tuee  o  o  !  o  chio  chee !  o  chio 
dice  I 

But  the  leather-heads  beat  all.  Niel 
gow  !  niel  gow  !  niel  gow  !  off  we 
go !  off  we  go  !  off  we  go  !  followed 
by  rapid  conversations,  the  words 
unintelligible  but  perfectly  articulate, 
and  interspersed  with  the  oddest 
chuckles,  plans  of  pleasure  for  the 
dav  no  doubt.  Then  ri  tiddle  tiddle 
tiddle  tiddle  tiddle  tiddle  tiddle  ! 
])laying  a  thing  like  a  fiddle  with 
wires  ;  then  "  off  we  ^o  "  a<:ain,  and 
bow!  wow!  wow!  jug!  jug!  jug! 
jug  !  juir  !  and  t!ie  whole  lot  in  ex- 
uberant spirits,  such  extravagance^  of 
drollery,  such  rollickin<:  jollity,  evi- 
dently splitting  their  sides  with  fun, 
and  not  able  to  contain  themselves  for 
it. 

Oh  !  it  was  twelve  thousand  miles 
above  the  monotonous  and  scanty 
strains  of  an  European  wood  ;  and 
when  the  roving  and  laughing,  and 
harshly  demanding   bacca-boxes  and 


324 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


then  as  pood  as  telling:  you  they 
didn't  euro  a  feather  for  haeca-boxes 
or  anytliin;^  else,  j:yroc  de  doc  !  ihc- 
boc  cheboc  chel)Oc !  and  loudly  aii- 
nouncinjr  their  immediate  dejjarture, 
and  perchirifj^  in  the  same  place  all  the 
more  ;  and  sweet,  low  modulations 
ending  in  puttinpj  on  the  steam  and 
creaking  like  Punch,  and  then  almost 
tuml)lin.<r  off  the  branches  with  laugh- 
ing at  the  general  acr-umulation  of 
nonsense,  —  when  all  this  drollery  and 
devilry  and  joy  and  absurdity  were 
at  their  maddest,  and  a  thousand 
feathered  fountains  bubbling  song 
were  at  their  highest,  then  came  the 
cause  of  all  the  merry  hubbub,  —  the 
pinnacles  of  rock  gloAved  burnished 
gold,  Nature,  that  had  crept  from 
gloom  to  ])allor,  burst  from  pallor  to 
light  and  life  and  burning  color, — 
the  great  sun's  forehead  came  with 
one  gallant  stride  into  the  sky,  —  and 
it  wa-i  day  ! 

Out  shone  ten  thousand  tents  of 
every  size  and  hue  and  shape,  from 
Isaac  Levi's  rood  of  white  canvas  down 
to  sugar-loaves,  and  even  to  miserable 
roofs  built  on  the  bare  ground  with 
slips  of  bark,  under  which  unlucky 
diggers  cre])t  at  night  like  badgers, — 
roofed  beds,  —  no  more, — the  stars 
twinkling  through  chinks  in  the  test- 
er. The  myriad  tents  were  clustered 
for  full  five  miles  on  each  side  of  the 
river,  and  it  wound  and  sparkled  in 
«nd  out  at  various  distances,  and 
shone  like  a  mirror  in  the  distant 
background. 

At  the  first  ray  the  tents  disgorged 
their  inmates,  and  the  human  hive  be- 
gin to  hum  ;  then  came  the  fight, 
the  mana'uvring,  the  desperate  wrestle 
wiih  Nature,  and  the  keen  fencing  with 
their  fellows,  —  in  short,  the  battle, 
—  to  which  that  nothing  might  be 
wanting,  out  burst  the  tremendous 
artillery  of  ten  thousand  cradles  louder 
than  thunder,  and  roaring  and  crash- 
ing without  a  pau«e. 

The  base  of  the  two-peaked  rock 
that  looked  so  silvery  in  the  moon  is 
now  seen  to  be  covered  w^ith  manu- 
gcript  advertisements  posted  on  it ;  we 


can  only  read  two  or  three  as  we  run 
to  our  work  :  — 

"  Immense  reddctiox   in  eggs 

OXLY  ONE    SHILLING    EACH  !  !  !       Be- 

van's  store." 

"  Go-ahead  library  and  regis- 
tration office  for  new  chums. 
Tom  Long  in  the  dead-horse 
gully." 

"If  this  MEETS  the  i  of  Tom 
Bowles  he  will  ear  of  is  pal  in 

THE  iron-bark  GULLY." 

"  This  is  to  give  notice  that 
whereas  my  wife  Elizabeth 
Sutton  has  taken  to  drink  and 

GONE     off    with    MY    MATE    BOB,    I 

will    not    be    ansaverable    for 
your    debts   nor  hold  any  com- 
munication with  you  in  future." 
"  James  Sutton." 

A  young  Jew,  Nathan,  issued  from 
Levi's  tent  with  a  rough  table  and 
two  or  three  pair  of  scales  and  other 
paraphernalia  of  a  gold  assayer  and 
merchant.  This  was  not  the  first 
mine  by  many  the  old  Jew  liad  trad- 
ed in. 

His  first  customers  this  morning 
were  George  and  RobinsoTi. 

"  Our  tent  was  attacked  last  night, 
Mr.  Levi." 

"  Again  ?  humph  !  " 

"  Torn  thinks  he  has  got  enemies 
in  the  camp." 

"  Humph !  the  young  man  puts 
himself  too  forward  not  to  have  ene- 
mies." 

"  Well,"  said  George,  quickly,  "if 
he  makes  bitter  enemies  he  makes 
warm  friends." 

George  then  explained  that  his 
nerve  and  Robinson's  were  giving 
way  under  the  repeated  attacks. 

"  We  have  had  a  talk  and  we  will 
sell  the  best  part  of  our  dust  to  you, 
sir.  Give  him  the  be<t  price  you  can 
afford  for  Susan's  sake." 

And  away  went  George  to  look 
for  his  (piarrz  river,  leaving  the  ex- 
thief  to  make  the  bargain  and  receive 
the  money. 

In    the    transaction  that   followed 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD. 


325 


Mr.  Levi  Jid  not  appear  to  great  ad- 
vjintii<;e.  Hi"  ina<lc  ii  little  advance 
on  the  time  pounds  per  ounce  on 
account  of  the  (luaniity,  but  he  would 
not  }:ive  ii  penny  ahuve  three  guineas. 
No  !  l)u>iniss  was  business  ;  he  could 
and  woultl  have  (^ircn  (icorge  a  couple 
of  hundred  pounds  in  day  of  need, 
but  in  buying  and  selling  the  habits 
of  a  life  could  not  be  shaken  off. 
Wherefore  Robinson  kept  back  eight 
jjouuds  of  gold-dust  and  sohl  him 
the  rc.--t  for  notes  of  the  Sydney 
Bank. 

'*  Well,  sir,"  said  Tom,  cheerfully, 
"now  my  heart  is  light;  what  we 
have  got  we  can  carry  round  our 
waists  now  l)y  night  or  day.  Well, 
friend,  what  do  you  want,  poking  your 
nose  into  tlie  tent  ?  " 

Coming  out  suddenly  he  had  run 
against  a  man  who  was  in  a  suspicious 
attitude  at  the  entrance. 

"  No  offence,"  muttered  the  man, 
"  I  wanted  to  sell  a  little  gold-dust." 

Levi  heard  what  Robinson  said,  and 
came  quickly  out. 

He  seated  liimself  behind  the  scales. 

"  Where  is  your  gold  ?  " 

The  man  fumbled  and  brought  out 
about  an  ounce.  All  the  time  he 
wciuh  d  it,  the  Jew's  keen  eye  kept 
glancing  into  his  f  ice  ;  he  lowered  his 
eyf'S  and  could  not  conceal  a  certain 
uneasiness.  When  he  was  gone,  Levi 
asked  Robinson  whether  he  knew  that 
face. 

"  Xo,"  said  "Robinson,"!  don't." 

Levi  called  Nathan  out. 

"Nathan,  look  at  that  man.  follow 
him  cautiously,  and  tell  me  where  we 
have  seen  him  ;  above  all,  know  him 
again.  Surely  that  is  the  face  of  an 
enemy." 

Tien  the  old  man  asked  himself 
wh'-re  he  had  seen  such  an  eye  and 
brow  an<l  8haml)ling  walk  as  that ; 
and  h('  fell  into  a  brown  study  and 
groped  among  many  years  for  the 
clew. 

"What!  isErin-go-brngh  up  with 
the  sun  for  once  ?  "  cried  Robinson  to 
Mary  M'Dogherty,  who  passed  him 
spade  on  shoulder. 


"  Sure  if  she  warn't  she  'd  never 
keep  up  with  Newgut,"  was  the  in- 
stant rejoinder. 

"  Hem !  how  is  your  husband, 
Mary  ? " 

"  Och,  captain,  it  is  a  true  friend  yc 
are  for  inquiring.  Then  it's  tied  in 
a  knot  he  is." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  tied  in  a  knot  ?  " 

"  Tied  in  a  knot  intirely,  —  wid  the 
rheumatism,  —  and  it 's  tin  days  I  'm 
working  for  him  and  the  childhre,  and 
my  heart 's  broke  against  gravel  and 
stone  intirely.  I  wisli  it  was  pratees, 
we  are  digging,  I  'd  maybe  dig  up  a 
dinner  any  way." 

"  There  is  no  difficulty,  the  secret 
is  to  look  in  the  right  place." 

"Ay!  ay!  take  your  divairsion,  ye 
sly  rogue  !  —  I  wish  ye  had  my  live 
childhre." 

"  Oh  !  you  spiteful  cat !  " 

"  Well.'Ede,  come  to  sell?  " 

"A  little." 

"  What  is  to  do  out  there  ?  seems  a 
bit  of  a  crowd." 

"  What,  have  n't  you  heard  ?  it  is 
your  friend  Jem !  he  has  got  a  slice 
of  luck,  bouirht  a  hole  of  a  stranger, 
saw  the  stuff  glitter,  so  offered  him 
thirty  pounds ;  he  was  green  and 
snapped  at  it;  and  if  Jem  did  n'c 
wash  four  ounces  out  the  tirst  cradle- 
ful  I  'm  a  Dutchman." 

"  AVell,  I  am  right  glad  of  that." 

A  young  digger  now  approached 
respectfully.  "Police  report,  cap- 
tain." 

"  Hand  it  here.  May  I  sit  at  your 
table  a  minute,  Mr.  Levi  1 "  Mr.  Levi 
bowed  assent. 

"  No  clew  to  the  parties  that  at- 
tacked our  tent  last  night?  " 

"  None  at  present,  captain,  but  we 
are  all  on  the  lookout.  Some  of  us 
will  be  sure  to  hear  of  something, 
course  of  the  day,  and  then  I  11  come 
and  tell  you.  Will  you  road  the  re- 
port ?  There  is  the  week's  summary 
as  well." 

"  Of  course  I  will.  Mum  !  mum  ! 
'  Less  violence  on  the  whole  this 
week ;  more  petty  larceny'  That  is 
bad.     I  '11  put  it  "down,  Mr.  Levi.     I 


326 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


am  determined  to  put  it  down.  What 
an  iiifiTiial  row  the  cradles  make. 
What  is  this  ?  '  A  great  flow  of 
stran^^ers  into  the  camp,  most  thought 
to  be  honest,  but  soine  great  roughs  ; 
also  a  good  many  Yankees  and  Ger- 
mans come  in  at  the  south  side.' 
What  is  this  ?  '  A  thief  lynched 
yesterday.  Flung  head-foremost  in- 
to a  hole  and  stuck  in  the  clay.  Not 
expected  to  live  after  it'  Go  it,  my 
boys  !  Did  n't  I  say  law  is  the  best  for 
all  parties,  thieves  included  ?  Leave 
it,  Andrew,  I  will  examine  it  with  the 
utmost  miimteness." 

The  dog  used  fine  words  on  these 
occasions,  that  he  miglit  pass  for  a 
])undit  with  his  clique,  and  being 
now  alone  he  pored  over  his  police- 
sheet  as  solemn  and  stem  as  if  the 
nation  depended  on  his  investiga- 
tions. 

A  short  explosion  of  laughter  from 
Andrew  inrerwipted  this  grave  occu- 
pation. The  beak  looked  up  with 
olfended  dignity,  and  in  spite  of  a 
mighty  effort  tell  a  sniggering :  for 
following  Andrew's  eyes  he  saw 
two  gig  umbrellas  gliding  erect  and 
peaceful  side  by  side  among  the 
pits. 

"  What  on  earth  are  they  ?  " 

"  Chinamen,  captain.  They  are 
too  Lizy  to  dig.  They  go  about  all 
day  looking  at  the  heaps  and  poking 
all  over  the  camp.  They  have  got 
eyes  like  hawks.  It  is  wonderful,  I 
am  told,  what  they  contrive  to  pick 
up  first  and  last.  What  hats  !  Why, 
one  of  'm  would  roof  a  tent." 

"  HuiToo  !  " 

"  What  is  up  now  1  " 

"  Hurroo  !  "  And  up  came  Mary 
M'DoLrherty  dancing  and  jumping  as 
only  Irish  ever  jumped.  She  had  a 
lump  f)f  dim  metal  in  one  hand  and 
a  glittering  mass  in  the  other.  She 
came  up  to  the  table  with  a  fantastic 
spring  and  spanked  down  the  spar- 
kling mass  on  it,  bounding  back  one 
step  like  india-rubber  even  as  she 
struck  the  table. 

'*  There,  ould  gintleman,  what  will 
ye  be  after  giving  rae  for  that  1     Sure 


the  luck  is  come  to  the  right  colleen 
at  last." 

"  I  deal  but  in  the  precious  metals 
and  stones,"  replied  Isaac,  quietly. 

"  Sure,  and  is  n't  gould  a  precious 
metal  ?  " 

"  Do  you  offer  me  this  for  gold  1 
This  is  not  even  a  metal.  It  is  mica, 
—  yellow  mica." 

**  Mikee  "?  "  cried  Mary,  ruefully, 
with  an  inquiring  look. 

At  this  juncture  in  ran  George,  hot 
as  fire.  "  There  !  "  cried  he,  trium- 
phantly to  K obi n son,  "  was  I  right 
or  wrong  ?  What  becomes  of  your 
gold-dust  ?  "  And  he  laid  a  nugget 
as  big  as  his  fist  on  the  tnble. 

"  Ochone  !  "  cried  the  Irishwoman, 
"  they  all  have  the  luck  barrin'  poor 
Molly  M'Dogherty." 

The  mica  was  handled,  and  George 
said  to  her  compassionately,  "  You 
see,  my  poor  girl,  the  first  thing  you 
should  do  is  to  heft  it  in  your  hand. 
Now  see,  your  lump  is  not  heavy 
like  —  " 

"  Pyrites  !  "  said  Isaac,  dryly,  hand- 
ing George  back  his  lump.  "  No  ! 
pyrites  is  heavier  than  mica,  —  and 
gold  than  pyrites." 

"Mr.  Levi,  don't  go 'to  tell  me 
this  is  not  a  metal,"  remonstrated 
George,  rather  sulkily,  "  for  I  won't 
have  it." 

"  Nay,  it  is  a  metal,"  replied  Levi, 
calmly,  "  and  a  very  useful  metal,  but 
not  of  the  precious  metals.  It  is 
iron." 

"  How  can  it  be  iron  when  it  is  yel- 
low? And  how  is  one  to  know  iron 
from  gold  at  that  rate  ?  " 

"  Be  patient,  my  son,"  said  the  old 
Jew,  calmly,  "and  learn.  Take  this 
needle.  Here  is  a  scale  of  gold  ;  take 
it  up  on  the  needle-point.  You  have 
done  it.  Why  "?  Because  gold  is  a 
soft  metal.  Now  take  up  this  scale 
from  your  pyrites  ?  " 

"  I  can't." 

"No,  because  iron  is  a  hard  metal. 
Here  is  another  childish  test,  —  a 
bloodstone,  called  by  some  the  touch- 
stone. Rub  the  pyrites  on  it.  It  col- 
ors it  not.  —  a  hard  metal.     Now  rub 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


327 


this  little  nujrfret  of  pure  gold  I  have 
ju>;t  l)Oiij;lit." 

"  Ay !  tliis  stains  the  stone  yel- 
low." 

"  A  soft  metal.  Here  in  this  little 
phial  is  muriatic  acid.  Pour  a  droji 
on  my  nuj:<:ct.  The  metal  defies  it. 
Now  pour  on  your  ])yntes.  See  how 
it  smokes  and  perishes.  It  cannot  re- 
sist the  acid.  There  arc  many  other 
tests,  but  little  needed.  No  metal,  no 
earthly  substance,  resembles  gold  in 
the    le'ast." 

"  Not  to  a  Jew's  eye,"  whispered 
Robinson. 

"  And  much  I  marvel  that  any  man 
or  even  any  woman  who  has  been  in  a 
gold  mine  and  seen  and  handled  vir- 
gin gold  should  take  mica  "  (liere  he 
knocked  the  mica  clean  off  the  table) 
"or  pyrites"  (here  lie  spanged  that 
in  another  direction)  "for  the  royal 
meral." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  to  do,  Mary," 
began  Robinson,  cheerfully.  "  Hallo  I 
fahe  is  crying.     Here  is  a  faint  heart." 

"  Och  !  captain  dear,  Pat  an'  me, 
we  are  kilt  right  out  for  want  of  luck. 
Oil  !  oh  !  We  niver  found  but  one 
gould, — and  that  was  mikee.  We 
can't  fall  upon  luck  of  any  sort, 
—  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  —  that  is 
where  I  'm  broke  and  spiled  and  kilt 
hintirely.     Oh  !  oh  !    oh  !  " 

"  Don't  cry.  You  have  chosen  a 
bad  spot." 

"  Captain,  avick,  they  do  be  turning 
it  up  like  carrots  on  both  sides  of  huz. 
And  I  dig  right  down  as  if  I  'd  go 
through  the  'orld  back  to  dear  old  Ire- 
land again.  He  !  he  !  be  !  o!i  !  oh  !  An 
I  do  be  praying  to  the  Virgin  at  every 
stroke  of  the  spade  I  do,  and  she 
sends  us  no  gould  at  all  at  all,  barrin' 
mikce  bad  cess  to  't.     Oh  !  " 

"  Tliat  is  it.  You  are  on  two 
wrong  tacks.  You  dig  perpendicular 
and  i)ray  b.orizontal.  Now  you  shoiild 
dig  horizontal  and  pray  perpendicu- 
lar." 

"  Ocli !  captain,  thim  's  hard  words 
f!)r  poor  Molly  M'Dogherty  to  quarry 
ihroufrh." 

"  Vriiat  is  that  in  vour  hand  ?  " 


"  Sure  it  is  an  illigant  lump  of  lead 
I  found,"  rc|)lied  ])OorMary  ;  the  ba>e 
metal  rising  in  estimation  since  Irt 
gold  turned  out  dross.  "  Ye  are  great 
with  the  revolver,  captain,"  said  she, 
coaxingly,  "  ye  '11  be  afiher  giving  mo 
the  laste  pinch  in  life  of  the  rale  stuff 
for  it?" 

Robinson  took  the  lump.  "  Good 
heavens !  what  a  weight !  "  cried  he. 
He  eyed  it  keenly.  "  Come,  Mr. 
Levi,"  cried  he,  "  here  is  a  find  ;  be 
generous.     She  is  unlucky." 

"  I  shall  be  just,"  said  the  old  man, 
gravely.  He  weighed  the  lump  and 
made  a  calculation  on  paper,  then 
handed   her  forty  sovereigns. 

She  looked  at  them.  "  O  now,  it  is 
mocking  me  ye  are,  old  man";  and 
she  would  n(/t  take  the  money.  On 
this  he  put  it  coolly  down  on  the  ta- 
ble. 

"What  is  it  at  all?"  asked  she, 
faintly. 

"  Platinum,"  replied  Isaac,  coldly. 

"  And  a  magnificent  lump  of  it !  " 
cried  Robinson,  warmly. 

"Och  captain!  och  captain  dear! 
and  wliat  is  plateenum  at  all, — if  ye 
plaze  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  like  your  mica,"  said 
Isaac.  "  See,  it  is  heavier  than  gold, 
and  far  more  precious  than  silver.  It 
has  noble  qualities.  It  resists  even 
the  simple  acid  that  dissolves  gold. 
Fear  not  to  take  the  money.  I  give 
you  but  your  metal's  value,  minus  the 
merchant's  just  profit.  Platinum  is 
the  queen  of  the  metals." 

"  Och,  captain   avick  !    och  !    och 


come  here  till  I  eat 


And  she 


flung  her  arm  round  Robinson's 
neck,  and  bestowed  a  little  furious 
kiss  on  him.  Then  she  pranced  away  ; 
then  she  ])ranced  back.  "  Platinum, 
vou  are  the  boy  ;  y'  are  the  queen  of 
the  mitals.  May  the  Lord  ble^s  vdh, 
ou!d  gentleman,  and  the  S\ivt>« 
HLEss  Yoi: !  and  the  VIRGIN  MARY 
BLESS  YOU!"*  An.l  she  made  af 
Isaac  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  kisi 

*  These  imprf-cations  are  printed  on  thi 
ascenrlinff  scnle  liy  wsiy  of  ende;ivur  to  shov* 
how  the  speaker  delivered  them. 


328 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   :\rEXD." 


him  ;  but  he  waved  her  off  with  calm, 
repulsive  dignity.  "  Hurroo  !  "  Ami 
the  thiid  of  Nature  bounded  into  the 
air  hke  an  antelope,  and  fris-ked  three 
times  ;  then  she  made  jinother  set  at 
them.  *'  May  you  live  till  the  skirts  of 
your  coat  knock  your  brains  out,  the 
pair  of  ye  !  hurroo  !  "  Then  with  sud- 
den demureness,  "  An'  here  's  wisliinj,^ 
'  you  all  sorts  of  luck,  good,  bad,  an'  in- 
(litFcrent,  my  darlin's.  Plateenum  for- 
iver,  and  gould  to  the  Divil,"  cried 
she,  suddenly,  with  a  sort  of  musical 
war-shout,  the  last  words  being  uttered 
three  feet  high  in  air,  and  accom- 
panied with  a  vague  kick,  utterly 
impossible  in  that  position  except  to 
Irish,  and  intended,  it  is  supposed,  to 
send  the  obnoxious  metal  off  the  sur- 
face of  the  globe  Ibrever.  And  away 
she  danced. 

Breakfast  now !  and  all  the  cradles 
stopped  at  once. 

"  What  a  delightful  calm,"  said 
Eobinson,  "  now  1  can  study  my  po- 
lice-sheet at  my  ease." 

This  morning,  as  he  happened  to 
be  making  no  noise,  the  noise  of 
others  worried  him. 

"  Mr.  Levi,  how  still  and  peaceful 
they  are  when  their  time  comes  to 
grub.  '  The  still  sow  sups  the  kail,' 
as  we  used  to  say  in  the  north  ;  the 
English  turn  the  proverb  differently, 
they  say,  '  The  silent  hog  — '  " 

' '  Jabber !  jabber  !  jabber !  —  aie  ! 
aie !  " 

"  Hallo  !  there 's  a  scrimmage !  and 
there  go  all  the  fools  rushing  to  see  it. 
I  '11  go  too  !  " 

Alas  !  poor  human  nature ;  the  row 
was  this. 

The  peaceful  children  of  the  moon, 
whom  last  we  saw  gliding  side  by 
side,  vertical  and  seemingly  imper- 
turbable, had  yielded  to  the  genius 
loci,  and  were  engaged  in  bitter  com- 
bat, after  the  manner  of  their  nation. 
The  gig  umbrellas  were  resolved  into 
their  constituent  ])arts  ;  the  uml>rellas 
proper,  or  hats,  lay  on  the  ground, — 
the  sticks  or  men  rolled  over  one  an- 
other scratching  and  biting.  Europe 
wrenched  them  asunder  with   much 


pain,  and  held  them  back  by  their 
tails  grinning  horrildy  at  each  other, 
and  their  long  claws  working  unamia- 
bly. 

The  diggers  were  remonstrating; 
their  morality  was  shocked. 

"Is  that  the  way  to  Hghf?  What 
are  fists  given  us  for,  ye  varmint  /  " 

Robinson  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  general  sentiment.  "  I  must 
do  a  bit  of  l)eak  here!"  cried  he; 
"  bring  those  two  tom-cats  up  before 
me!" 

The  proposal  was  received  with  ac- 
clamation. A  high  seat  was  made 
for  the  self-constituted  beak,  and  Mr. 
Stevens  was  directed  to  make  the 
Orientals  think  that  he  was  the  lawful 
magistrate  of  the  mine. 

Mr.  Stevens,  entering  into  the  fun, 
persuaded  tlie  Orientals,  who  were  now 
gig  umbrellas  again,  that  Robinson 
was  the  mandarin  who  settled  proper- 
ty, and  possessed,  among  other  trifles, 
the  power  of  life  and  death.  On  this 
they  took  off  their  slippers  before  him, 
and  were  awe-struck,  and  secretly 
wished  they  had  nol  kicked  up  a  row, 
still  more  that  they  had  stayed  quiet 
by  the  banks  of  the  Hoang-ho. 

Robinson  settled  himself,  demand- 
ed a  pipe,  and  smoked  calm  and  terri- 
ble, while  his  myrmidons  kept  their 
countenances  as  well  as  they  could. 
After  smoking  in  silence  awhile,  he 
demanded  of  the  Chinese,"  What  Avas 
the  row  ?  " 

\st  Chinaman.  "  Jabber  !  jabber  ! 
jabber !  " 

2c?  Chinaman.  "  Jabber  !  jabber  ! 
jabber ! " 

Both.    "Jabber  !  jabber  !  jabber  !  " 

"What  is  that?  can't  they  speak 
anv  Endish  at  all  1 " 

"  No  !  " 

"  No  wonder  they  can't  conduct 
themselves,  then !  "  remarked  a  dig- 
ger. 

The  judge  looked  him  into  the  earth 
for  the  interruption. 

"  You  get  the  story  from  them,  and 
tell  it." 

After  a  conference,  Mr.  Stevens 
came  forward. 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


329 


"It  is  about  a  migrfjet  of  gold, 
wliirli  is  fliiimed  by  both  parties." 

RJiiuson.  "  Stop !  I)riii^  that  iiuji;- 
frc't  into  court;  that  is  the  regular 
tour&c." 

Circa t  interest  began  to  be  excited, 
and  all  their  necks  were  craned  for- 
ward,—  when  Mr.  Stevens  took  from 
one  of  tiie  Chinese  the  cause  of  so 
Siinguiiiarv  a  disturbance,  and  placed 
it  on  the  judge's  table.  A  roar  of 
lauLihter  followed,  —  it  was  between 
a  pea  and  a  pin's  head  in  magni- 
tu.le. 

Robinson.  "  You  know  this  is  shock- 
ing. Asia^  I  am  ashamed  of  you. 
Silence  in  the  court!  Proceed  with 
the  evidence." 

Mr.  Stecens.  "  This  one  saw  the 
gold  shining,  and  he  said  to  the  other, 

—  'Ah!'" 

Robinson  ( writing  his  notes  ). 
"  Said  —  to  —  the  —  other —  '  Ah  ! ' 

—  Stop !    what  was  the  Chinese  for 
' ah '  ?  " 

Stevens.    "'Ah!'" 

Robinson.    "  Oh  !  " 

Andrew.  "  COme  !  the  beggars 
have  got  bold  of  some  of  our  words  !  " 

Robinson.    "  Silence  in  the  court !  " 

Andrew.    "1  ask  pardon,  captain." 

Stfrens.  "  But  the  other  pounced 
on  it  first,  so  tlicy  l)Oth  claim  it." 

Robinson.  "  Well !  I  call  it  a  plain 
case." 

Stevens.    "  So  I  told  them." 

Robinson.  "  Exactly  !  Which  do 
you  think  ought  to  have  it?" 

Stcrens.  "  Why,  I  told  them  we 
have  a  proverb,  —  'Losers,  seekers  — 
finders,  keepers. '  " 

Robinson.  •'  Of  course  ;  and  which 
was  the  finder  ?  " 

Sfevrns.  "  Oh  !  of  course  this  one 
that  —  hum  !  Well,  to  be  sure  he  only 
snifl  '  ah  ! '  he  did  not  point.  Then 
perhaps  —  but  on  the  other  hand  — 
hum  !  " 

Robinson.  "  Why,  don't  you  see  ? 
but  no! — yes!  Avhy  it  must  be  the 
ore  thnt  —  nijh  !  Drat  you  both! 
wliy  could  n't  one  of  you  find  it,  and 
the  other  another  ?  " 

Robinson  was  puzzled.     At  last  he 


determined  that  this  his  first  judgment 
should  satisfy  boih  ]tartics. 

"Kcuiovethe  prisoners,"  eaid  he; 
"  are  they  the  prisoners  or  the  wit- 
nesses ?  remove  them  any  way,  and 
keep  them  apart." 

liobinson  then  searched  his  .pockets, 
and  ))roduced  a  little  gold  swan-shot 
scarce  distinguishable  from  the  Chi- 
nese, lie  put  this  on  the  tabic,  and 
took  up  the  other. 

"  Fetch  in  number  one !  " 

The  Chinaman  came  in  with  obei- 
sances and  misgivings  ;  but  when  the 
judge  signed  to  him  to  take  up  the 
gold,  which  he  mistook  for  the  cause 
of  quarrel,  his  face  lightened  with  a 
sacred  joy, —  he  receded,  and  with  a 
polite  gesture  cleared  a  space  ;  then, 
advancing  one  loot  with  lar<:e  and 
lofty  grace,  he  addressed  the  judge, 
whose  mouth  began  to  open  with  as- 
tonishment, in  slow,  balanced,  and 
musical  sentences.  This  done,  he  re- 
tired with  three  flowing  salaams,  to 
which  the  judge  replied  with  three  lit- 
tle nods. 

"  What  on  earth  did  the  beggar 
say  1  AVhat  makes  you  grin,  Mr. 
Stevens  ?  " 

Stn-ens.    "  He  said  —  click  !  " 

Robinson.  "  Come !  tell  me  first, 
laugh  afrer." 

Stevens.  "He  said,  '  IMay  your 
highness  flourish  like  a  tree  by  the 
side  of  a  stream  that  never  overflows, 
yet  is  never  dry,  but  glides  —  (click!) 
—  even  and  tranquil  as  the  tide  of 
your  prosperity  — '  " 

Roljiiison.    "  Well,  I  consent !  " 

Stevens.  " '  JNIny  dogs  defile  the 
graves  of  your  enemies  !  '  " 

Robinson.  "  With  all  my  heart  ! 
provided  lam  not  dancing  over  them 
at  the  time." 

Stevens.  " '  When  satiated  with 
earthly  felicity,  may  you  be  received 
in  paradise  by  seventy  dark -eyed 
honris  — ' " 

Robinson.    "  Oh  !  my  e^'c  !  " 

Stevens.  "Click!  *  Ivich  bearing 
in  her  hand  the  wine  of  iho  faithful, 
and  may  the  applause  of  the  good  at 
your  departure  resemble  the  waves  of 


330 


"IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MKND.' 


the  ocean  beatino^  musically  upon 
rocky  caverns.  Thy  servant,  inex- 
pL-ricnced  in  oratory,  retires  abashed 
at  t!ie  i^reatness  of  his  subject,  and  the 
insigniiicance  of  his  expressions/  So 
then  he  cut  his  stick  !  " 

Robinson.  "  A  very  sensible  speech  ! 
Well,  hoys,  I'm  not  greedy:  I  take 
the  half  of  tliat  offer,  and  give  you 
tlie  rest,  —  bring  in  the  other  gentle- 
man ! " 

No.  2  advanced  with  reverences  and 
mis:^ivin<rs.  Robinson  placed  the  gold 
on  tlie  table  and  assigned  it  to  him.  A 
sa-^red  joy  illumined  him,  and  he  was 
about  to  retire  with  deep  obeisances. 

"  Where  is  his  speech  1  "  cried  the 
judge,  ruefully. 

Stevens  explained  to  him  that  the 
other  had  returned  thanks.  On  this  No. 
2  smiled  assentingly,  and  advancing 
delivered  the  following  sentences  :  — 

*•  Your  slave  lay  writhing  in  adver- 
sity, despoiled  by  the  unprincipled. 
He  was  a  gourd  withered  by  the  noon- 
day sun,  until  your  virtues  descended 
like  the  dew,  and  refreshed  him  with 
your  justice  and  benignity. 

"  Wherefore  hear  now  the  benedic- 
tion of  him  whom  your  clemency  has 
raised  from  despair. 

"  M.iy  your  shadow  increase  and 
cover  many  lands.  May  your  off- 
spring be  a  nation  dwelling  in  palaces 
with  golden  roofs  and  walls  of  ivory, 
and  on  the  terraces  may  peacocks  be 
as  plentiful  as  sparrows  are  to  the  un- 
deserving. May  you  live  many  cen- 
turies shining  as  you  now  shine ;  and 
at  your  setting  may  rivulets  of  ink 
dag  by  the  pens  of  poets  flow  through 
meadows  of  paper  in  praise  of  the 
virtues  that  embellished  you  here 
on  eartli.  Sing-tu-Che,  a  person  of 
sm  ill  note  but  devoted  to  your  service, 
wishes  these  frivolous  advantages  to 
the  I'earl  of  the  West,  on  whom  be 
honor." 

Chorus  of  diqrjers.      "  My  eye  !  " 

Robinson  rose  with  much  gravity 
and  delivered  himself  thus  :  — 

"  Sing-tu-Che,  you  are  a  trump,  an 
orator,  and  a  humhuir.  All  t!ie  better 
for  you.     May   felicity    attend   you. 


Heichster  guchster  —  honi  Roit  qui 
mal  y  pense  —  donner  und  blitze.i  — 
tempora  mutantur  —  O  mia  cara  and 
pax  vobiscum.  The  court  is  dis- 
solved." , 

It  was,  and  I  regret  to  add  that 
Judge  Robinson's  concluding  sen- 
tences raised  him  greatly  in  the  opin- 
ion of  the  miners. 

"  Cjiptain  knows  a  thing  or  two." 

"  If  ever  we  send  one  to  parliament 
that  is  the  man." 

"  Hallo  !  you  fellows  come  here  ! 
come  here !  " 

A  rush  was  made  towards  Jem, 
who  was  roaring  and  gesticulating  at 
Mr.  Levi's  table.  When  they  came 
up  they  found  Jem  black  and  white 
with  rage,  and  Mr.  Levi  seated  in 
calm  indifference. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Robinson. 

"  The  merchant  refuses  my  gold." 

"  I  refuse  no  man's  gold,"  objected 
Levi,  coolly,  "  but  this  stuff  is  not 
gold." 

"  Not  gold-dust,"  cried  a  miner ; 
and  they  all  looked  with  wonder  at 
the  rejected  merchandise. 

Mr.  Levi  took  the  dust  and  poured 
it  out  from  one  hand  to  the  other;  he 
separated  the  particles  and  named 
them  by  some  mighty  instinct. 

"  Brass  —  or-molu  —  gilt  platinum 
to  give  it  weight ;  this  is  from  Bir- 
mingham, not  from  Australia,  nor  na- 
ture." 

"  Such  as  it  is  it  cost  me  thirty 
pounds,"  cried  Jem.  "  Keep  it.  I 
shall  find  him.  My  spade  shall  never 
go  into  the  earth  again  till  I  'm  quits 
with  this  one." 

"  That  is  right,"  roared  the  men, 
"  bring  him  to  us,  and  the  captain 
shall  sit  in  judgment  again  "  ;  and  the 
men's  countenances  were  gloomy,  for 
this  was  a  new  roiiuery  and  struck  at 
the  very  root  of  gold  digirincr. 

"  I'll  put  it  down,  Mr.  Levi,"  said 
Robinson,  after  the  others  hid  jrnne 
to  their  work  ;  "  here  is  a  new  dodire, 
Brumma'jrem  planted  on  us  so  far  from 
home.  1  will  pull  it  down  with  a  ten- 
penny  cord  but  I'll  end  it." 

Crash!  went  ten  thousand  cradles* 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


331 


the  mine  had  breakfasted.  I  wish  I 
could  ;;ive  the  Kuiopean  reader  an 
idea  of  the  nia<j;nitude  of  this  sound 
whose  cause  was  so  humble.  I  must 
draw  on  nature  for  a  comparison  :  — 

Did  you  ever  stand  upon  a  rocky 
shore  at  evenint;  when  a  <;:reat  stoim 
has  suddenly  <;one  down,  leaving  the 
waves  about  as  hijih  as  they  were 
while  it  raided  ?  Then  there  is  no 
roarinj;  wind  to  dull  the  clamor  of  the 
tremendous  sea  as  it  lashes  the  long 
re-bellowing  shore.  Such  was  the 
sound  of  ten  thousand  cradles  ;  yet 
the  sound  of  each  one  was  insignificant. 
Hence  an  observation  and  a  refieetion, 
—  the  latter  I  dedicate  to  the  lovers 
of  antiquity, —  that  multiplying  sound, 
magnifies  it  in  a  way  science  has  not 
yet  accounted  for ;  and  that,  though 
men  are  all  dwarfs,  Napoleon  includ- 
ed, man  is  a  giant. 

The  works  of  man  are  so  prodi- 
gious they  contradict  all  we  see  of 
any  individual's  powers;  and  even 
so  when  you  had  seen  and  heard  one 
man  rock  one  cradle,  it  was  all  the 
harder  to  believe  that  a  few  thousand 
of  tliem  could  rival  thunder,  ava- 
lanches, and  the  angry  sea  lashing  the 
long  re-echoing  shore  at  night.  Tliese 
miserable  wooden  cradles  lost  their 
real  character  when  combined  in  one 
mighty  human  effort ;  it  seemed  as  if 
giant  labor  had  stretched  forth  an  arm 
huge  as  an  arm  of  the  sea  and  rocked 
one  enormous  engine,  whose  sides  were 
these  great  primeval  rocks,  and  its 
month  a  thundering  sea. 

Crash  !  from  meal  to  meal ! 

The  more  was  Robinson  surprised 
when,  full  an  hour  before  dinner-time, 
this  mighty  noise  all  of  a  sudden  be- 
came feebler  and  feebler,  and  present- 
ly human  cries  of  a  strange  character 
made  their  w;iy  to  his  ear  through  the 
wooden  thunder. 

"  What  on  earth  is  up  noAv  ?  " 
thought  he,  —  "  an  earthquake  1  " 

Presently  he  saw'  at  about  half  a 
rhile  off  a  vast  crowd  of  miners  mak- 
ing towards  him  in  tremendous  ex- 
citement. They  came  on,  swelled 
every   moment    by   fresh  faces,   and 


cries  of  vengeance  and  excitement 
were  now  heard,  which  the  wild  and 
savage  aspect  of  the  men  rendered 
truly  terrible.  At  last  he  saw  and 
comprehended  all  at  a  glance. 

Tiiere  were  Jem  ami  two  others 
dragging  a  man  along  whose  white 
face  ami  knocking  knees  betrayed  his 
guilt  and  his  terror.  Robinson  knew 
him  directly ;  it  was  Walker,  wlio 
had  been  the  decoy-duck  the  night  his 
tent  was  robbed. 

"  Here  is  the  captain  !  Hurrah  ! 
I  've  got  him,  captain.  This  is  the 
beggar  that  peppered  the  hole  for  me, 
and  now  we  will  pepper  him  !  " 

A  fierce  burst  of  exultation  from 
the  crowd.  They  thirsted  for  re- 
venge. Jem  had  caught  the  man  at 
the  other  end  of  the  camp,  and  his 
offence  was  known  by  this  time  to  half 
the  mine. 

"  Proceed  regularly,  Jem,"  said 
Robinson.  "  Don't  condemn  the  man 
unheard."' 

"  O  no  !  He  shall  be  tried,  and 
you  shall  be  the  judge." 

"  I  consent,"  said  Robinson,  some- 
what pompously. 

Then  arose  a  cry  that  made  him 
reflect :  "  Lynch  !  Lynch  !  a  seat  for 
Judge  Lynch!"  and  in  a  momenta 
judgment-seat  was  built  with  cradles, 
and  he  was  set  on  high,  with  six 
strange  faces  scowling  round  him  for 
one  of  his  own  clique.  He  determined 
to  back  out  of  the  whole  thing. 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  that  is  im- 
possible. 1  cannot  be  a  judge  in  such 
a  serious  matter." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  roared  several  voices. 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  I  am  not  a 
regular  beak  ;  because  I  have  not  got 
authority  from  the  Crown." 

There  was  a  howl  of  derision. 

"  We  give  you  authority  !  " 

"  We  order  you  to  be  judge  !  " 

"  AVe  are  King,  Lords,  and  Com- 
mons !  " 

"  Do  what  we  bid  you,  or,"  added 
a  stranger,  "  we  will  hang  you  and 
the  prisoner  with  one  rope  !  " 

Grim  assent  of  the  surrounding 
faces  ;    Robinson   sat  down   on    the 


332 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


judgment-seat  not    a    little    discom- 
poseil. 

"Now,  then,"  remonstrated  one; 
"  what  are  you  waiting  for  1  Name 
the  jury." 

"Me!"  "Me!"  "Me!"  "I!" 
"  I !  "  and  there  was  a  rush  for  the 
office. 

"  Keep  cool,"  replied  another. 
"  Lynch  law  goes  quick,  but  it  goes 
by  rule.     Judge,  name  the  jury." 

Robinson,  a  man  whose  wits  seldom 
deserted  him,  at  once  determined  to 
lead,  since  he  could  not  resist.  He 
said  with  dignity  :  "  I  shall  choose  one 
juryman  from  each  of  the  diiferent 
countries  that  are  working  in  this 
mine,  that  no  nation  may  seem  to  be 
slighted,  for  this  gold  belongs  to  all 
the  world." 

"Hurrah!  Well  done,  judge. 
Throe  cheers  for  Judge  Lynch !  " 

"  When  I  call  a  country,  give  me  a 
name,  which  I  will  inscribe  on  my 
report  of  the  proceedings.  I  want  a 
currency  lad  lirst." 

"  Here  is  one.     William  Parker." 

"  Pass  over.     France." 

"  Present.     Pierre  Chanot." 

"  Germany." 

"  Here.     Hans  Miiller." 

"  Holland." 

"  Here.     Jan  Van  der  Stegen." 

Spain  and  Italy  were  called,  but  no 
reply.     Asleep,  I  take  it. 

"  United  States." 

"  Here.     Nathan  Tucker." 

Here  Robinson,  casting  his  eyes 
round,  spied  M'Laughlan,  and,  be- 
ing minded  to  dilute  the  severity  of 
his  jury,  he  cried  out,  "  Scotland. 
M'Laughlan,  you  shall  represent 
her." 

No  answer. 

"  M'Laughlan,"  cried  several  voices, 
"  where  are  ye  ?  Don't  you  hear' 
Judge  Lynch  speak  to  you  1  " 

"  Come,  M'Laughlan,  come  over  ; 
you  are  m  respectable  man." 

Mr.  M'Lauirhlan  intimated  briefly 
in  his  native  dialect  that  he  was,  and 
intended  to  remnin  so ;  by  way  of 
comment  on  wliich  he  made  a  bolt 
from   the   judgment -hall,    but    was 


rudely  seized  and  dragged  before  tho 
judge. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  a 
fool,  M'Laughlan.  No  man  must  re- 
fuse to  be  a  juryman  in  a  trial  by 
lynch.  I  saw  a  Quaker  stoned  to 
death  for  it  in  California." 

"  I  guess  I  was  tliyar,"  said  a  voice 
behind  the  judge,  who  shifted  uneasi- 
ly- 

M'Laughlan  went  into  the  jury- 
box  with  a  meaning  look  at  Robin- 
son, but  without  another  audible 
word. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  !  "  cried  Walker. 

"  You  must  not  interrupt  the  pro- 
ceedings," said  Judge  Lynch. 

"  Hand  your  whist,  ye  gowk.  Ye 
are  no  fand  guilty  yet,"  remonstrated 
a  juror. 

The  jury  being  formed,  the  judge 
called  the  plaintiff. 

"  The  man  sold  me  a  claim  for 
thirty  pound.  I  gave  him  the  blunt 
because  I  saw  the  stuff  was  glittery. 
Well,  I  worked  it,  and  I  found  it  work 
rather  easy,  that  is  a  fact." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  "  roared  the 
crowd,  but  with  a  horrible  laughter, 
no  placability  in  it. 

"  Well,  I  found  lots  of  dust,  and  I 
took  it  to  the  merchant,  and  he  says 
it  is  none  of  it  gold.  That  is  my 
tale." 

"  Have  you  any  witnesses  ?  " 

"I don't  know.  Yes,  the  nigger; 
he  saw  it.  Here,  Jacky,  come  and 
tell  them." 

Jacky  was  thrust  forward,  but  wag 
interrupted  by  M'Laughlan  as  soon 
as  he  opened  his  mouth.  The  Scot- 
tish juror  declined  to  receive  evidence 
but  upon  oath.  The  judge  allowed 
the  objection. 

"  Swear  him  in,  then,"  cried  a 
hundred  voices. 

"Swear?"  inquired  Jacky,  inno- 
cently. 

Another  brutal  roar  of  laughter  fol- 
lowed. 

Ja'ky  was  offended. 

"  What  for  you  laujrh,  you  stupid 
fellows  ?  I  not  a  common  black  fel- 
low.    I  been  to  Sydney  and  learn  all 


IT   IS   NEVEK   TOO   LATE   TO   AIEND. 


333 


the  Avhite  man  knows.  Jucky  will 
Nwoiir,"  utlii»^'<i  lie. 

"  lA'ft  your  hond,"  cried  M'Laugh- 
laii.  "  It  is  no  swearing  if  you  diuna 
k'ft  your  liond," 

"  Dat  so  stupid,"  said  Jacky,  lift- 
in<^  Ills  luuid  peevishly.  This  done, 
lie  delivered  his  evidence  thus : 
"  DauHue  I  saw  dis  fellow' sell  dirt  to 
dis  fellow,  and  dannne  I  saw  dis  fel- 
low rind  a  ffood  deal  j;old,  and  dam- 
me I  hearil  him  say  dis  is  a  dam  .^--ood 
joh,  and  <len  damme  he  put  down  his 
spade  and  jro  to  sell,  and  directly 
he  come  back  and  say  damme  I  am 
done  !  " 

"Awce1,"said  M'Lauchlan  ;  "we 
jaast  refuse  yon  lad's  evidence,  the 
deevelirh  heathen." 

A  threateninir  murmur. 

"  Silence  !     Hear  the  defendant." 

Walker,  tremhlinfj  like  an  aspen, 
owned  to  havin<;  sold  the  claim,  but 
denied  that  the  dust  was  false.  "  This 
is  what  I  dug  out  of  it,"  said  he  ; 
and  he  produced  a  small  pinch  of 
dust. 

"  Hand  it  to  me,"  said  the  judge. 
"  It  seems  genuine." 

"  Wit  it  to  the  test.  Call  the 
merchant  for  a  witness,"  cried  an- 
other. 

A  piirty  ran  instantly  for  Levi.  He 
refused  to  come.  They  dragged  him 
wiih  fearful  menaces. 

"  A  test,  old  man  ;  a  test  of  gold  ! " 

The  old  Jew  cast  his  eyes  around, 
took  in  the  whole  scene,  and,  with  a 
conra.:e  few  of  ihe  younger  ones  M'ould 
have  shown,  deried  that  wild  mob. 

"  I  will  give  you  no  test.  I  wash 
my  hands  of  your  mad  passions,  and 
vonr  mockeries  of  justice,  men  of  Be- 
lial !  " 

A  moment's  silence  and  wonder,  a 
yell  of  rage,  and  a  dozen  knives  in 
the  air. 

The  judge  rose  hastily,  and  in  a 
terrible  voice  that  governed  the  tu- 
mult for  an  instant  said  :  "  Down 
knives !  I  hang  the  first  man  that 
uses  one  in  my  court."  And  (lurin>r 
the  momentary  pause  that  followed 
this  he  cried  out :  "  He  has  given  me  a 


test.  Eun  and  fetch  me  the  bottle  of 
acid  on  his  table." 

"  Hurrah  !  Judge  Lynch  forever  !  " 
was  now  the  cry,  and  in  a  miimte 
the  bottle  was  thrust  into  the  jutlge's 
hand. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Isaac,  solemn- 
ly, "do  not  ))()ur,  lest  Heaven  bring 
your  soul  to  as  keen  a  test  one  day. 
Who  are  you  that  judge  vour  broth- 
er ?  " 

Ju<lge  Lynch  trembled  visibly  as 
the  reverend  man  rebuked  liijn  thus, 
but,  fearing  Isaac  would  go  furihtr 
and  pay  the  forfeit  of  his  boldness,  he 
said  calmly  :  "  Friends,  remove  the 
old  man  from  the  court,  but  use  re- 
spect.    He  is  an  aj^ed  man." 

Isaac  was  removed.  The  judge 
took  the  bottle  and  jtoured  a  drop  on 
that  small  pinch  of  dust  the  man  had 
last  given  him. 

No  effect  followed. 

"I  pronounce  this  to  be  gold." 

"There,"  put  in  M'Laughlan,  "ye 
see  the  lad  was  no  deceiving  ye  ;  is  it 
his  faut  if  a'  the  gowd  is  no  the 
same  ? " 

"  No !  "  whimpered  Walker,  eager- 
ly, and  the  crowd  began  to  whisper 
and  allow  he  might  be  innocent. 

The  man  standing:  behind  the  judge 
said,  with  a  cold  sneer  :  "  That  is  the 
stuiF  he  did  not  sell,  —  now  pour  on 
the  stuff  he  sold." 

These  words  brought  back  the  pre- 
judice against  the  prisoner,  and  a  hun- 
dred voices  shouted,  "  Pour !  "  wliile 
their  eyes  gleamed  with  a  terrible  cu- 
riosity. 

Judge  Lynch,  awe-struck  by  this 
terrible  roar,  now  felt  what  it  is  to  be 
a  judge;  he  trembled  and  hesitated. 

"Pour!"  roared  the  crowd,  still 
louder  and  more  Hercely. 

MT^aughlan  read  the  judge's  feel- 
ing, and  whimpered  out,  "  Let  it  fa', 
lad,  — let  it  fa'!" 

"  If  he  does  our  knives  f  dl  on  him 


and 


KObinson  poured  :  all  their  fierce 
eyes  were  (i.xed  on  the  experiment. 
He  meant  to  pour  a  drop  or  two,  but 
the  man  behind  him  jogged  his  arm, 


334 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


and  hnlf  the  acid  in  the  bottle  fell  up- 
on Walker's  dust. 

A  quantity  of  smoke  rose  from  it, 
and  the  particles  iizzud  and  bubbled 
undL-r  the  terrible  test. 

"Trash!  a  rope — no!  dig  a  hole 
and  bury  him  — no  !  fling  him  ofFthe 
roek  into  the  water." 

"  Silence  !  "  roared  Robinson,  "  I 
am  the  judge,  and  it  is  for  me  to  pro- 
nounce I  he  verdict. 

"  Silence  !  hear  Judge  Lynch  !  " 
Silence  was  not  obtained  for  five  min- 
utes, during  which  the  court  was  like 
a  forest  of  wild  l)easts  howling. 

"  I  condemn  him  to  be  exi)Osed  all 
day,  with  liis  dust  tied  round  his  neek, 
and  then  drummed  out  of  the  camp." 

This  verdict  was  received  first  with 
a  yell  of  derisive  laughter,  then  with 
a  roar  of  rage. 

"  Down  with  the  judge  !  " 

"  We  are  the  judges  !  " 

*'  To  the  rock  with  him  !  " 

"Ay,  to  the  rock  with  him." 

With  this,  an  all-overpowering  rush 
was  made,  and  Walker  was  carried 
off  up  the  rock  in  the  middle  of  five 
hundred  infuriated  men. 

The  poor  wretch  cried,  "  Mercy ! 
mercy !  " 

''  Justice  !  dog,"  was  the  roar  in 
reply.  The  raging  crowd  went  bel- 
lo-viVig  up  the  rock  like  a  wave  :  and 
gained  a  natural  platform  forty  feet 
above  the  great  deep  pool  that  lay 
dark  and  calm  below.  At  the  sight 
of  it,  the  poor  wretch  screamed  to 
wake  the  dead,  but  the  roars  and  yells 
of  venL^oan<-e  drowned  his  voice. 

"  Tut  his  dust  in  his  pocket,"  cried 
one,  erueller  than  the  rest. 

Their  thirst  of  vt-ng*  ance  was  too 
liot  to  Avait  for  this  diabolical  propo- 
sal ;  in  a  moment  four  of  them  had 
him  by  the  shoulders  and  heels;  an- 
other moment  and  the  man  was  flung 
from  tlie  rock,  uttering  a  terrible 
death-cry  in  the  very  air  ;  then  down 
his  body  fell  like  lead,  and  struck 
with  a  tremendous  plunge  the  deep 
water  that  splashed  up  a  moment,  then 
closed  and  Imbbled  over  it. 

From     that    moment    the   crowd 


roared  no  longer,  but  buzzed  and 
murmured,  and  looked  down  upoa 
their  work  half  stupidly. 

"  Hush  !  " 

"  What  is  that  1  " 

•'  It  is  his  head  !  " 

"  He  is  up  again  !" 

"  Can  he  swim  ^  " 

"  Fling  stones  on  him." 

"  No  !  Let  him  alone,  or  we  'II 
fling  you  atop  of  him." 

"  He  is  up,  but  he  can't  swim.  He 
is  only  struggling  !  he  is  down  again  !  " 

He  was  down,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  then  he  appeared  again  choking 
and  gurgling. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  ! " 

"  Justice,  thieving  dog  !  "  was  the 
appalling  answer. 

"  Save  me  !  save  me  !  O  save  me  ! 
save  me ! " 

"  Save  yourself!  if  you  are  worth 
it !  "  was  the  savage  reply. 

The  drowning,  despairing  man's 
head  was  sinking  again,  his  strength 
exhausted  by  his  idle  struggles,  wlien 
suddenly  on  his  left  hand  he  saw  a 
round  piece  of  rock  scarce  a  yard 
from  him  :  be  made  a  desperate  eflort 
and  got  his  hand  on  it.  Alas  !  it  was 
so  slimy,  he  could  not  hold  by  it ;  he 
fell  off  it  into  the  water  ;  he  struggled 
up  again,  tried  to  dig  his  feet  into  the 
rock,  but  after  a  convulsive  fling  of  a 
few  seconds,  fell  back,  —  the  slimy 
rock  mocked  his  grasp.  He  came  up 
again  and  clung,  and  cried  piteously 
for  help  and  mercy.  There  was  none  ! 
—  but  a  grim  silence  and  looks  of 
horrible  curiosity  at  his  idle  struggles. 
His  crime  had  struck  at  the  very  root 
of  their  hearts  and  lives.  Then  this 
poor  cowardly  wretch  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  'must  die.  He  gave  up 
praying  to  the  pitiless,  who  could 
look  down  and  laugh  at  his  death- 
agony,  and  he  cricil  upon  the  absent 
only.  "  My  children  !  my  wife  !  my 
poor  Jenny  ! "  and  with  this  he  shut 
his  eye's,  nnd,  struggling  no  more, 
sank  quietly  down  !  down !  down. 
First  his  shoulders  disappeared,  then 
his  chin,  then  his  eyes,  and  then  his 
hair.     Who  can  fathom  human  na- 


r   IS   XKVKli    TOO   LATE   TO   MKND.' 


335 


ture?  that  sad,  despairinp^  cry,  which 
was  not  aclciresscd  to  them,  knocked 
at  the  bosoms  that  all  his  prayers  to 
them  for  pity  had  never  touclied.  A 
hasty,  low,  and  uneasy  murmur  tbl- 
lowcil  it  almost  as  a  report  follows  a 
tia^sh. 

•'  His  wife  and  children  ! "  cried 
several  voices  with  surprise ;  but 
there  were  two  men  this  cry  not  only 
touched,  but  pierced,  —  the  plaintiff 
and  the  judire. 

"  The  man  has  got  a  wife  and  chil- 
dren," cried  Jem,  in  dismay,  as  he 
tried  to  descend  the  rock  by  means  of 
some  diminutive  steps.    "  They  never 

ottendcd  me,  —  he  is  f;one  down, 

me  if  1  see  the  man  drowned  like  a 
rat— Hullo!  — Splash!" 

Jem's  foot  had  slipped,  and,  as  he 
felt  he  must  go,  he  jum])ed  right  out, 
ami  fell  twenty  feet  into  the  water. 

At  this  the  crowd  roared  Avith 
hiughter,  and  now  was  the  first  sliade 
of  good-n;iture  mixed  with  thegutiiiw. 
Jem  fell  so  near  Walker,  that  on  com- 
ing up  he  clutched  the  drowning 
man's  head  and  dragged  him  up  once 
more  from  death.  At  the  sight  of 
Walker's  face  above  water  again, 
what  did  the  crowd,  think  you  ? 

They  burst  into  a  loud  hurrah  ! 
and  cheered  Jem  till  the  echoes  rang 
again. 

"  Hurrah  !  Bravo  !  Hurrah  !  " 
pealed    the   tickle   crowd. 

Now  Walker  no  sooner  felt  himself 
clutched  tlian  he  clutched  in  return 
with  the  deadly  grasp  of  a  drowning 
man.  Jem  struggled  to  get  free  in 
vain.  Walker  could  not  hear  or  see, 
he  was  past  all  tliat ;  but  he  could 
cling,  and  he  got  Jem  round  the  arms 
and  pinned  th.-m.  After  a  few  con- 
vulsive elforts  Jem  give  a  loud  gro;in. 
He  then  said  <|nietly  to  the  spectators, 
"  He  will  drown  me  in  another  half- 
minute."  But  at  this  critical  mo- 
ment out  came  from  the  other  ex- 
tremity of  the  pool  Judge  Lynch, 
swimming  with  a  long  rope  in  his 
hand  :  one  end  of  this  rope  he  had 
made  into  a  bight  ere  he  took  the  wa- 
ter.   He  swam   behind  Walker  and 


I  Jem,  whipped  the  noose  over  their 
I  heads  and  tightened  it  under  their 
shoulders.  "  Haul  !  "  cried  he  to 
Ede,  wlio  held  the  other  end  of  the 
rope.  Kde  hauled,  and  down  went 
the  two  heads. 

A  groan  of  terror  and  pity  from  the 
mob,  —  their  feelings  were  reversed. 

"  Haul  quick,  Ede,"  shouted  Rob- 
inson, "  or  you  will  drown  them,  man 
alive." 

Ede  hauled  hand  over  hand,  and  a 
train  of  bubhles  was  seen  nuikinij  all 
across  the  pool  towards  him  :  and  the 
next  moment  two  dripj)ing  heads 
came  up  to  hand  close  together,  like 
cherries  on  a  stalk  ;  and  now  a  dozen 
hands  were  at  the  rope,  and  the  ])lain- 
titFand  defendant  were  llfied  bodily  up 
on  to  the  flat  rock,  which  came  nearly 
to  the  water's  edge  on  thi^  side  the 
pool. 

"  Augh  !  augh  !  augh  !  augh  ! " 
gasped   Jem. 

Walker  said  nothing  :  he  2«y  white 
and  motionless,  water  trickling  from 
his  mouth,  nose,  and  ears. 

Robinson  swam  quietly  ashore. 
The  rocks  thundered  with  cheers  over 
his  head.  «" 

The  next  moment,  "the  many- 
headed  beast "  remembered  that  all 
this  was  a  waste  of  time,  and  bolted 
underground  like  a  ral)l)it,  and  dug 
and  peeked  for  the  hare  life  with  but 
one  thought  left,  and  thut  was  Gold. 

'•  How  are  you,  Jem  ?  " 

"  O  captain,  oh  !  "  gasped  poor 
Jem,  "  I  am  choked  —  I  am  dead  — 
I  am  poisoned,  —  why,  I'm  full  ol 
water  ;  bring  this  other  beggar  to  my 
tent,  and  we  will  take  a  nanny-goat 
togetln'r." 

So  Jem  was  taken  off  hanging  his 
head,  and  deadly  sick,  sup|)orted  by 
two  friends,  and  Walker  was  carried 
to  the  same  tent,  and  stripped  and 
rubbed  and  rolled  up  in  a  blanket ;  and 
lots  of  brandy  poured  down  him  and 
Jem,  to  counteract  the  poison  they  had 
swallowed. 

Robinson  went  to  Mr.  Levi,  to  see 
if  he  would  lend  him  a  suit,  while  ho 
got  his  own  dried.     The  old  Jew  ro' 


336 


"IT  IS  j;ever  too  late  to  mend." 


ceived  my  lord  judfre  with  a  low,  iron- 
ical bow,  and  sent  Nathan  to  borrow 
the  suit  from  another  Israelite.  He 
then  lectured  my  lord  Lyncii. 

"Learn  from  this,  youn<^  mini,  how 
easy  it  is  to  set  a  stone  roUinjj:  down 
hill,  how  hard  to  stop  it  half-way 
down.  Law  must  always  be  above 
the  mob,  or  it  cannot  be  law.  If  it 
fall  into  their  hands  it  goes  down  to 
their  own  level,  and  becomes  revenge, 
passion,  cruelty,  anything  but  —  law. 
The  madmen  !  they  have  lost  two 
thousand  ounces  of  gold,  —  to  them- 
selves and  to  the  world,  while  they 
have  been  wasting  their  time  and 
risking  their  souls  over  a  pound  of 
brass,  and  aspiring  to  play  the  judge 
and  the  executioner,  and  playing 
nothing  but  the  brute  and  the  fool,  — 
as  in  the  days  of  old." 

Mr.  Levi  concluded  by  intimating 
that  there  was  very  little  common 
sense  left  upon  eartii,  and  that  little  it 
would  be  lost  time  to  search  for 
among  the  Gentiles.  Finally  his 
discourse  galled  Judge  Lynch,  who 
thereupon  resolved  to  turn  the  laugh 
against  him. 

'•  Mr.  Levi,"  said  he,  "  I  see  you 
know  a  thing  or  two  :  will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  answer  me  a  question  ?  " 

"  If  it  come  within  my  knowledge," 
replied  the  senior,  with  grave  polite- 
ness. 

"  Which  weighs  the  heaviest,  sir,  a 
pound  of  gold  or  a  pound  of  feath- 
ers ?  "  and  he  winked  at  Nathan,  but 
looked  in  Isaac's  face  as  demure  as  a 
Quakeress. 

"  A  pound  of  feathers,"  replied 
Isaac. 

Rol)inson  looked  half  puzzled,  half 
satirical. 

"  A  childish  question,"  said  Isaac, 
sternly.  "  What  boy  knows  not  that 
feathers  are  weiirhed  by  Avoirdupois, 
and  gold  by  Troy  weight,  and  conse- 
quently that  a  pound  of  feathers 
weiiihs  sixteen  ounces,  and  a  pound 
of  gold  but  twelve  ?  " 

*•  Well,  that  is  a  new  answer,"  cried 
Rol)inson.  "  Good  by,  sir,  you  are 
too  hard  for  me  "  ;  and  he  made  off  to 


his  own  tent.  It  was  a  day  of  de- 
feats. 

The  moment  he  was  out  of  hearing, 
Isaac  laughed.  The  only  time  he 
had  done  it  during  six  years.  And 
what  a  laugh !  How  sublimely  de- 
void of  merriment !  a  sudden  loud 
cackle  of  tin-ee  distinct  cachinni  not 
declining  into  a  chuckle,  as  we  do, 
but  ending  sharp  in  abrupt  and  severe 
gravity. 

"  I  discomfited  the  young  man, 
Nathan,  —  I  mightily  discomfited  him. 
Ha  !  ha !  ho  !  Nathan,  did  you  as  I 
bade  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  master,  I  found  the  man, 
and  I  sent  Samuel,  who  went  hastily 
to  him,  and  cried  out,  '  Mr.  Meadows 
is  in  the  camp  and  wishes  to  speak  to 
you.'  Master,  he  started  up  in  won- 
der, and  his  wiiole  face  changed ; 
without  doubt  he  is  the  man  you  sus- 
pected." 

"  Yes,"  said  Isaac,  reflecting  deep- 
ly. "  The  man  is  Peter  Crawley ; 
and  what  does  he  here  ?  Some  deep 
villany  lies  at  the  bottom  of  this,  but 
I  will  fathom  it,  ay,  and  thwart  it,  I 
swear  by  the  God  of  Abraham.  Let 
me  think  awhile  in  my  tent.  Sit  you 
at  the  receipt  of  gold." 

The  old  man  sat  upon  a  divan  in 
his  tent,  and  pondered  on  all  that  had 
happened  in  the  mine  ;  above  all,  on 
the  repeated  attacks  that  had  been 
made  on  that  one  tent. 

He  remembered,  too,  that  George 
had  said  sorrowfully  to  him  more  than 
once  :  "  No  letters  for  me,  Mr.  Levi, 
no  letter  again  this  month !  "  'J'he 
shrewd  old  man  tied  these  two  threads 
together  directly. 

"  All  these  things  are  one,"  said 
Isaac  Levi. 

Thus  pondering,  and  patiently  fol- 
lowing out  his  threads,  the  old  man 
paced  a  mile  down  the  camp  to  the 
post-office,  for  he  had  heard  the  post- 
man's horn,  and  he  expected  impor- 
tant letters  from  England,  from  his 
friend  and  agent  at  Farii borough.  Old 

There  were  letters  from  England, 
but  none  in  old  Cohen's  hand.  He  put 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEXD. 


837 


tliom  in  liis  bosom  with  a  dis:ippoint- 
e»i  look,  and  paced  slowly,  and  dcej)ly 
pondcrinir,  biuk  towards  his  tent,  lie 
wa>  nl)out  half-way,  when,  much  to 
lii-;  suipri-e,  a  stone  fell  close  to  liim. 
lie  took,  however,  no  notice,  did  not 
even  accelerate  his  jjacc  or  look 
round  ;  hut  the  next  moment  a  lump 
of  i;\a\'  struck  him  on  the  arm.  He 
turned  round,  quiverinjr  with  ra<ze  at 
the  insnlt,  and  then  he  saw  a  whole 
band  of  di<:<;ers  behind  him,  who  the 
nu)ment  he  turned  his  face  began  to 
hoot  and  pelt  him. 

"  Who  }iOt  poor  Walker  drowned  ? 
Ah  !  ah  '  ah  !  " 

"  Who  refused  to  pivc  evidence  be- 
fore Judj;e  Lvnch  ?  "  cried  another, 
"Ah  !  ah!  ah!  " 

There  were  clearly  two  parties  in 
the  mob. 

"  Down  with  the  Jew,  —  the  blood- 
sucker. We  do  all  the  work,  and  he 
pets  nil  the  proHt.     Ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  " 

And  a  lump  of  day  struck  that 
reverend  head,  and  almost  stunned 
the  poor  old  man.  He  sunk  upon 
liis  knees,  and  in  a  moment  his  coat 
was  torn  to  shreds,  but  with  un- 
expected activity  he  wrigy:led  himself 
free,  and  drew  a  dagi:er  long,  bright, 
and  sharp  as  a  needle.  His  assailants 
recoiled  a  moment.  The  next  a  voice 
was  heard  from  behind,  "  Get  on 
both  sides  of  him  at  once  !  " 

Isaac  looked  and  saw  Peter  Craw- 
ley. Then  the  oid  man  trembled  for 
his  life,  and  cried,  "  Help  !  help  !  " 
and  they  hemmed  him  in  and  knocked 
hi>  dagger  out  of  his  hand,  and  hus- 
tled and  pommelled  him,  and  would 
have  torn  him  in  pieces;  but  he  slipped 
down,  and  two  of  them  got  in  front 
and  dragjxed  him  along  the  ground. 

'*  To  Walker's  pool,"  cried  brutus, 
putting  himself  at  the  head  of  those 
•who  followed. 

All  of  a  sudden  Isaac,  though  half 
insensible,  heard  a  roar  of  rage  that 
seemed  to  come  fiom  a  lion,  —  a 
whiz,  a  blow  like  a  thunder-clap, — 
saw  one  of  his  assassins  driven  into 
the  air  and  falling  like  a  dead  clod 
three  yards  off,  found  himself  dropped 
15 


and  a  man  striding  over  him.  It  'Atk* 
George  Fielding,  who  stood  a  sinjilu 
tnontent  snorting  and  blowing  out  ins 
checks  will;  rage,  then  went  slap  at  the 
mol)  as  a  lion  goes  at  sheep;  seized 
one  of  the  small  rufHans  by  the  knees, 
and,  by  a  tremendous  ctlijct  of  strength 
and  rage,  actually  used  him  as  a 
Hail,  and  struck  brutus  with  the 
nuiu's  head,  and  knocked  that  ruffian 
down  stunned,  and  his  nose  levelled 
with  his  cheeks.  The  mob  recoiled  a 
moment  from  this  one  hero.  George 
knew  it  could  be  but  for  a  moment,  so 
he  hail  no  sooner  felled  brutus,  and 
hurled  the  other's  carcass  in  their 
faces,  than  he  ])ounced  on  Isaac, 
whipped  him  on  his  back  and  ran  oif 
with  him. 

He  had  got  thirty  yards  with  him 
ere  the  staggered  mob  could  realize  it 
all. 

The  mob  recovered  their  surprise, 
and  with  a  yell  like  a  pack  of  hounds 
bursting  covert  dashed  after  the  pair. 
The  young  Hercules  made  a  wonder- 
ful effort,  but  no  mortal  man  could 
run  very  fast  so  weighted.  In  spite 
of  his  start  they  caught  him  in  about 
a  hundred  yards.  He  heard  them 
close  upon  him,  — put  the  Jew  down, 
—  and  whispered  hastily,  "Run  to 
your  tent,"  and  instantly  wheeled 
round  and  flung  himself  at  thirty  men. 
He  struck  two  blows  and  disabled  a 
couple  ;  the  rest  came  upon  him  like 
one  battering-ram  and  bore  him  to  the 
ground  ;  but  even  as  he  went  down 
he  caught  the  nearest  assailant  by  the 
throat  and  they  rolled  over  one  an- 
other, the  rest  kicking  savagely  at 
George's  head  and  loins  The  poor 
fellow  defended  his  head  with  one 
arm  and  his  assailant's  body  for  a  lit- 
tle while,  but  he  received  some  terri- 
ble kicks  on  the  back  and  legs. 

"  Give  it  him  on  the  head  !  " 

"  Kick  his  life  out !  " 

"  Settle  his  hash  !  " 

They  were  so  fiercely  intent  on  fin- 
ishing George  that  they  did  not  ob 
serve  a  danger  that  menaced  therp 
selves. 

As  a  round  shot  cuts  a  lane  through 
V 


^38 


IT  IS  kevp:r  too  late  to  mend.' 


a  column  of  infantry,  so  clean  came 
two  tiles  of  sp*"'-'"!  constables  with 
theii'  sliort  stave=  severinu  the  mob  in 
two,  —  crick,  crf^olv,  crick,  crick,  crick, 
crick,  crack,  crack.  In  three  seconds 
ten  heads  were  broken,  with  a  sound 
just  like  glass  buttles,  under  the  short, 
deadly  truncheon,  and  there  lay  half 
a  dozen  ruffians  writhing  on  the 
ground,  and  l)eaiingthe  Devil'b  tattoo 
with  tiieir  heels. 

"  Charge  back !  "  cried  the  head- 
polioeman  as  soon  as  he  had  cut  clean 
through. 

But  at  the  very  word  the  cowardly 
crew  fled  on  all  sides  yelling.  The 
police  followed  in  ditferent  directions 
a  little  way,  and  through  this  error 
three  of  the  felled  got  up  and  ran 
staggering  ofl'.  When  the  head-po- 
liceman saw  that  he  cried  out :  — 

"  Back,  and  secure  prisoners." 

They  caught  three  who  were  too 
stupefied  to  run,  and  rescued  brutus 
from  George,  who  had  got  him  by 
the  throat  and  was  hammering  the 
ground  with  his  head. 

"  Let  go,  George,"  cried  Policeman 
Kobinson,  in  some  anxiety,  "  you  are 
killing  the  man." 

"  O,  I  don't  want  to  kill  him  nei- 
ther," said  George, 

And  he  slowly  withdrew  his  grasp, 
and  left  off  hammering  with  the  ras- 
cal's head,  but  looked  at  him  as  if  he 
would  have  preferred  to  have  pone  on 
a  little  longer.  They  captured  the 
three  others. 

"Now  secure  them,"  cried  Ede. 
"  Out  with  your  wipes." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  wipes,"  said 
Robinson. 

He  then  with  a  sli;rht  i)Ii>'',  and 
rather  avoiding  George's  eye,  put  his 
hand  in  his  pockets  and  produced  four 
beautil'ul  sets  of  handcuffs  bran  new, 
polished  to  the  nine.  With  a  niatn- 
cal  turn  of  the  hand  he  handcuffed 
the  throe  men,  still  avoiding  GeorLie's 
eve.  Unnecessary.  George's  sense 
of  humor  \vas  very  faint,  and  so  was 
his  swcei  heart's, — a  sad  defect. 

Perhaps  I  mr^  as  well  explain  here 
how  llobinson  came  so  opportunely 


to  the  rescue.  The  fact  is,  that  n 
week  a<:o  lie  had  ordered  a  lot  of  con- 
stables' staves  and  four  sets  of  hand- 
cuffs. The  staves  were  nicely  paint- 
ed and  lettered  "  Captain  Kobiii.«on's 
Police,  A,  B,  C";  &c.  They  had 
just  come  home,  and  Robinson  was 
showing  them  to  Ede  and  his  gang, 
when  a  hullal)aloo  was  heard,  and 
Levi  was  seen  full  half  a  mile  off  be- 
ing hunted.  Such  an  oj)portunity  of 
trying  the  new  staves  was  not  to  be 
neglected.  Ede  and  his  men  jumped 
out  of  their  claim  and  ran  with  Rol)- 
inson  to  the  rescue.  But  they  would 
have  been  too  late  if  George,  who  had 
just  come  into  the  camp  at  that  very 
part,  had  not  made  his  noble  and  des- 
perate assault  and  retreat,  which  baf- 
fled the  assailants  for  two  precious 
minutes. 

Robinson.  "  What  shall  we  do  with 
them  now  we  have  got  them  ?  " 

CHeorge.  "  Give  them  a  kick  apiece 
on  their  behinds,  and  let  them  go, — 
the  rubbish." 

Bohinson.    "  Not  if  I  know  it." 

Ede.    *'  I  say  blackguard  'em." 

Robinson.  "  No.  that  would  be  let- 
ting ourselves  down  to  their  level.  No, 
—  we  will  expose  them  as  we  did  my 
old  pal  here  h<  fore." 

Ede  "Why,  that  is  what  I  mean. 
Ticket,  thtm — put  a  black  card  on 
them  with  their  offence  wrote  out 
large." 

is'o  sooner  said  than  done.  All 
four  were  tied  to  jiosts  in  the  sun,  and 
I)liuk-( ardcd,  or,  as  some  spell  it,  pla- 
carded, thus  .  — 

COWARD. 

Attacked  and  abused  an  old  man. 

N.  B.  —  Not  hanged  this  time  be- 
cause they  got  a  licking  then  and 
there. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  after  Mr.  Levi, 
GeoiL^e," 

"  Well.  Tom,  I  had  rather  not." 

"  Why  not  ^  he  ought  to  be  very 
much  obli^red  to  you." 

"  That  is  it,  Tom.  The  old  man  is 
of  rather  a  grateful  turn  of  mind, — ■ 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


339 


and  it  is  ten  to  one  if  he  does  n't 
po  and  \)V'^\n  praisiii<;  nic  to  my 
fiue,  —  and  then  that  makes  mo  — 
I  don't  know  whith  way  to  look. 
Wait  till  he  has  cooled  upon  it  a 
bit." 

"  Yt)u  are  a  rum  one.  Well, 
George,  I  have  fjot  one  proposal  you 
won't  say  no  to.  First,  I  must  tell 
you  there  really  is  a  river  of  quartz  in 
the  countrv." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  did  n't  believe  it.  But 
I  have  spoken  to  Jacky  about  it,  and 
he  has  seen  it ;  it  is  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bush.  I  am  ready  to  start  for 
it  to-morrow,  for  there  is  little  o;ood 
to  1)6  done  here  now  the  weather  has 
broken." 

George  assented  with  joy ;  but,  when 
Ro!)inson  suiigested  that  Jacky  would 
be  very  useful  to  pilot  them  through 
the  bush,  his  countenance  fell. 

"  Don't  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "  I 
know  he  is  here,  Tom,  and  I  sha'  n't 
go  after  him.  But  don't  let  him  come 
near  me,  the  nasty  little,  creeping, 
murdering  varmint.  Poor  Abner 
will  never  get  over  his  tomahawk,  — 
not  if  he  lives  fifty  years." 

In  short,  it  was  agreed  they  should 
go  alone  at  peep  of  day. 

"  I  have  talked  it  over  with  Jem 
already,  and  he  will  take  charge  of 
our  tent  till  we  come  back." 

"  So  be  it." 

"  We  must  take  some  provisions 
with  us,  George." 

"I'll  go  and  get  some  cold  meat 
and  bread,  Tom." 

"  Do.     I  'm  going  to  the  tent." 

Robinson,  it  is  to  be  observed,  had 
not  been  in  his  tent  since  George  and 
he  left  it  and  took  their  uold  out  of 
it  just  hefore  sunrise.  As  he  now 
carried  their  joint  wealth  about  his 
person,  his  an.xiety  was  transferred. 

Now  at  the  door  of  the  tent  he  was 
intrrci'pted  by  Jem,  very  red  in  the 
face,  partly  with  brandy,  partly  with 
rage.  Walker,  whose  life  he  had 
saved,  whom  he  had  taken  to  his  own 
tent,  and  whom  RoUin'^on  had  seen 
lying  asleep  in  the  best  blanket,  this 


Walker  had  absconded  with  his  boots 
and  half  a  pound  of  tobacco. 

"  Well,  but  you  knew  he  was  a 
rogue.  Why  did  you  leave  him  alone 
in  your  tent  ?  " 

"  1  only  left  him  for  a  minute  to  go 
a  few  steps  with  you  if  you  remember, 
and  you  said  yourself  he  was  asleep. 
Well,  the  moment  our  backs  were 
turned  he  must  have  got  up  and  done 
the  trick." 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  said  Robinson. 

"  No  more  don't  I,"  said  Jem. 

"  If  he  was  not  asleep,  he  must 
have  heard  me  say  I  was  going  to 
cross  the  bush  with  my  mate  to-mor- 
row at  daybreak." 

"Well!  and  what  if  he  did  ?  " 

"  He  is  like  enough  to  have  gone 
and  told  the  whole  gang." 

"  And  what  if  he  has  ?  " 

Robinson  was  about  to  explain  to 
Jem  that  he  now  carried  all  the*  joint 
gold  in  his  pockets,  but  he  forbore. 
"It  is  too  great  a  stake  for  me  to 
trust  anybody  unless  I  am  forced," 
thought  he.  So  he  only  said  :  "  Well, 
it  is  best  to  be  prudent.  I  shall 
change  the  hour  for  starting." 
.  "  You  are  a  cunning  one,  captain, 
but  I  really  think  you  are  over-care- 
ful sometimes." 

"  Jem,"  said  the  other,  gravely, 
"  there  is  a  mystery  in  this  mine. 
There  is  a  black  gang  in  it,  and  that 
Walker  is  one  of  them.  I  think  they 
have  sworn  to  have  my  gold  or  my 
life,  and  they  sha' n't  have  either  if  I 
can  help  it.  I  shall  start  two  hours 
before  the  sun." 

He  was  quite  right ;  Walker  had 
been  shamming  sleep,  and  full  four 
hours  ago  he  had  told  his  confederates 
as  a  matter  of  course  all  that  he  had 
heard  in  the  enemy's  camp. 

Walker,  a  timid  villain,  was  unpre- 
pared for  the  burst  of  savage  exulta- 
tion from  brutus  and  Black  Will  that 
followed  this  intelligence.  These  two, 
by  an  instinct  quick  as  lightning,  saw 
the  me:ins  of  gratifying  at  one  blow 
their  cupidity  and  hate.  Crawley  had 
'  already  told  them  he  had  seen  Robin- 
I  son  come  out  of  Levi's  tent  after  a 


840 


IT   IS  XEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


long  stay,  and  their  other  spies  had 
told  them  his  own  tent  had  been  left 
un*ruarded  for  hours.  They  put  these 
thin<rs  to^^ether  and  conjeciured  at 
once  that  the  nun  had  now  their  swag 
about  tiiem  in  one  form  or  other. 

"  When  do  they  ^-o  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  at  break  of  day,"  he 
said. 

"  The  bush  is  very  thick  !  " 

"  And  dark  too  !  " 

'•  It  is  just  the  place  for  a  job." 

"  Will  two  of  you  be  enout,'h  ?  " 

"Plenty,  the  way  we  shall  work," 

"  The  men  are  strong  and  armed." 

"  Their  strength  »vill  be  no  use  to 
them,  and  they  sha' n't  get  time  to  use 
their  arms." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  shed  no  blood 
Tinnecessarily,"  said  Crawley,  begin- 
ning to  tremble  at  the  pool  of  crime 
to  -whose  brink  he  had  led  these  men. 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  give  up 
their  swag  while  they  are  alive?" 
asked  brutus,  scornfully. 

"  Then  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  all," 
cried  the  little  self-deceiving  caitiff; 
and  he  affected  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

•Walker  was  then  thanked  for  hi* 
information,  and  he  thought  this  was 
a  good  opportunity  for  complaining 
of  his  wrongs  and  demanding  redress. 
This  fellow  was  a  thorough  egotist, 
saw  everything  from  his  own  point 
of  view  only. 

Jem  had  dragged  him  before  Judge 
Robinson  ;  Robinson  had  played  the 
beak  and  found  him  guilty  ;  Levi  had 
furnished  the  test  on  which  he  had 
been  convicted.  All  these  had  there- 
fore cruelly  injured  and  nearly  killed 
him. 

Himself  was  not  the  cause.  He  had 
not  set  all  these  stones  rolling  by 
forging  upon  nature  and  robbinfr  Jem 
of  thirty  pounds.  No!  he  could  n:t 
see  that,  nor  did  he  thank  Jem  one 
bit  for  jumping  in  and  saving  his  life 
at  risk  of  his  own.  "  Why  did  he 
ever  get  him  thrown  in,  the  brute  ? 
if  ho  was  not  quire  drowned  he  was 
nearly,  and  Jem  the  cause." 

His  confederates  soothed  him  with 


I  promises  of  vengeance   on   all    their 
'  three   his    fenemies,   and   soon     after 
I  catching  sight  of  one  of  them.  Levi, 
I  they  kept  their  word  ;  they  roused  up 
some   of  the   other   diggers    against 
Isaac  on  the  plea  that  lie  had  refused 
to  give  evidence  airainst  Walker,  and 
so  they  launched  a  mob  and  trusted 
to  mob  nature  for  the  rest.     The  re- 
coil  of  this  su])erfluous  villany  was, 
as  often  happens,  a  blow  to  the  head 
scheme. 

brutus,  who  was  wanted  at  peep  of 
day  for  the  dark  scheme  already 
hinted  at,  got  terribly  battered  by 
George  Fielding,  and  placarded,  ancf, 
what  was  worse,  chained  to  a  post,  by 
Robinson  and  Ede.  It  became  neces- 
sary to  sound  his  body  and  spirit. 
One  of  the  gang  was  sent  by  Crawley 
to  inquire  whether  he  felt  strong 
enouah  to  go  with  Black  Will  on  that 
difficult  and  dangerous  work  to-mor- 
row. The  question  put  in  a  passing 
whisper  was  answered  in  a  whisper. 

"  1  am  as  strong  as  a  lion  for  re- 
venge. Tell  them  I  would  not  miss 
to  morrow's  work  for  all  the  gold  in 
Australia."  The  lowering  face  spoke 
loud  enough  if  the  mouth  whispered. 
The  message  was  brought  back  to 
Black  Will  and  Crawley. 

"  What  energy  !  "  said  Crawley, 
admiringlv. 

"  Ay  !  "'  said  Black  Will,  "  that  is 

your  sort ;  give  me  a  pal  with  his  skin 

smarting  and  his  bones  aching  for  the 

sort  of  job   that  wood    shall   see   to- 

I  morrow.     Have  they  marked  him  ?  " 

t  he  inquired,  with  a  strange  curiosity. 

j      "  I  am  afraid  they  have ;  his  nose  is 

j  smashed  frightful." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it  ;  now  we  are 
I  brothers  and  will  have  blood  for 
j  blood." 

"  Your  expressions  are  dreadfully 
terse,"  said  Crawley,  trying  to  smile, 
but  looking  scared   instead  ;  "  but   I 
don't  understand   your  remark ;  you 
I  were    not    in    the    late   unsuccessful 
i  attack  on  Mr.  Levi,  and  you  e>capcd 
j  most  providentially  in  the  night  busi- 
ness, —  the  men  have  not  inarked  you, 
1  my  good  friend." 


"IT   IS   NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


341 


"  Have  n't  they  1  "  yelled  the  man, 
with  a  trcnieiiiluus  outli,  —  "haven't 
tlicy  ?  Look  hekk  !  "  A  j^lance 
■was  enough.  Crawley  turned  wan 
and  simddcred  from  head  to  foot. 


CHAPTER   LXVL 

"Wk  left  Robinson  and  Jem  talking 
at  the  entrance  to  the  tent. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Robinson  :  "you 
will  take  care  of  this  tent  while  we  are 
gone." 

Jem  promised  faithfully. 

He  then  asked  Robinson  to  explain 
to  him  the  dodge  of  the  gut-lines. 
Robinson  showed  him,  and  how  the 
bells  were  rung  at  Ids  head  by  the 
thiefs  foot. 

Jem  complimented  him  highly, 

Robinson  smiled,  but  the  next  mo- 
ment sighed.  "  They  will  be  too 
clever  for  us  some  of  these  dark 
nights,  —  see  how  nearly  they  have 
nicked  us  again  and  again !  ! " 

"  Don't  be  down  on  your  luck, 
captain  ! " 

"Jem,  what  frightens  me  is  the 
villains  getting  off  so  ;  there  they  are 
to  try  again,  and  next  time  the  luck 
will  be  theirs,  —  it  can't  be  always 
ours,  —  wliy  should  it  ?  Jem,  there 
was  a  man  in  my  tent  last  night." 

"  There  is  no  denying  that,  cap- 
tain." 

"  Well,  Jem,  I  can't  get  it  off  my 
heart  that  I  was  to  kill  that  man,  or 
he  me.  Everything  was  on  my  side. 
I  had  my  gutlines,  and  I  had  a 
revolver  and  a  cutlass,  —  and  I  took 
up  the  cutlass  like  a  fool ;  if  I  had 
taken  up  the  revolver  the  man  would 
be  dead.  I  took  up  the  wrong,  and 
that  man  will  be  my  death.  The 
cards'  never  forgive !  l  had  the  odd 
trick,  and  did  n't  take  it,  —  I  shall  lose 
the  tramc." 

"  No,  ye  sha'  n't,"  cried  Jem,  hasti- 
ly. "  What  if  the  man  got  clear  for 
the  moment,  we  will  hunt  him  out 
for  you.  You  give  me  his  descrip- 
tion." 


"I  could  n't,"  said  Robinson,  dc- 
spondingly.  "  It  was  so  dark  !  Here 
is  his  j)istol,  but  that  is  no  use;  if  I 
had  but  a  clew,  ay,  ever  so  sli^^ht,  I'd 
follow  it  up  :  but  no,  there  is  none. 
Hallo,  what  is  the  matter  !  What  is 
it?  what  on  earth  is  the  man  looking 
at  like  that  ?  " 

"  What  was  you  asking  for  1  " 
stammered  Jem.  "  Was  n't  it  a 
clew  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Robinson  got  up  and  came  to  Jem, 
who  was  standing  with  dilated  eyes 
looking  at  the  ground  in  the  very 
corner  of  the  tent.  He  followed  the 
direction  of  Jem's  eyes,  and  was  in- 
stantly transfixed  with  curiosity  and 
rising  horror. 

"  Take  it  up,  Jem,"  he  gasped. 

"  No,  you  take  it  up  !  it  was  you 
who  —  " 

"No,  —  yes!  there  is  George's 
voice,  I  would  n't  let  him  see  such  a 
thing  for  the  world.  O  God !  here  is 
another,'' 

"  Another  1 " 

"  Yes,  in  the  long  grass  !  and  there 
is  George's  voice." 

"  Come  out,  Jem.  Not  a  word  to 
George  for  the  world.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  If  it  has  n't  turned  me  sick  ! 
I  should  make  a  poor  hangman.  But 
it  was  in  self-defence,  thank  Heaven 
for  that !  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  in  such  a 
hurry,  Tom?  "  said  George. 

"  O,  only  a  little  way  with  Jem." 

"  Don't  be  long,  it  is  getting  late." 

"  No,  George ! " 

"Jem,  this  is  an  ugly  job  !  " 

"  An  ugly  job,  no  ! him,  I  wish 

it  was  his  head.  Give  them  me, 
captain." 

"  What,  will  you  take  charge  of 
them  ?  " 

"  That  I  will,  captain,  and  what  is 
more  I'll  find  your  enemy  out  by 
t'lem,  and  when  you  come  back  he 
shall  be  in  custody  waiting  your 
orders.     Give  them  me." 

"  Yes,  take  them.  O,  but  I  am 
glad  to  be  rid  of  them.  What  a 
ghastly  look  they  have." 


j42 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.'» 


"  I  don't  care  for  their  looks.  I  am 
right  glad  to  see  them,  —  tliey  are  a 
clew  and  no  mistake.  Keep  dark  to- 
niglit.  Don't  tell  this  to  Ede,  —  he  is 
a  good  fellow  but  chatters  too  much, 
—  let  me  work  it  out.  I  '11  tind  the 
late  owner  double  quick,"  said  Jem, 
with  a  somewhat  brutal  laugh. 

*'  Your  orders  about  the  prisoners, 
captain  ?  "  cried  Ede,  coming  up. 

Robinson  reflected. 

"  Turn  them  all  loose, — but  one." 

*'  And  what  shall  I  do  with  him  1  " 

"  Hum  !  Put  a  post  up  in  your 
own  tent." 

"  Yes." 

"  Tie  him  to  it  in  his  handcuffs. 
Give  him  food  enough," 

"  And  when  shall  we  loose  him  ■?  " 

"At  noon,  to-morrow." 

"  It  shall  be  done !  but  you  must 
come  and  show  me  which  of  the  four 
it  is." 

Robinson  went  with  Ede  and  his 
men. 

"  Turn  this  one  loose,"  said  he  ;  it 
was  done  on  the  instant. 

''And  this." 

"And  this." 

"  And  "  ( laying  his  finger  on  brutus) 
"keep  this  one  prisoner  in  your  tent, 
handcuffed  and  chained,  till  noon  to- 
morrow." 

At  the  touch,  brutus  trembled  with 
hate ;  at  the  order,  his  countenance 
fell  like  Cain's. 

Full  two  hours  before  sunrise  the 
patrol  called  Robinson  by  his  own 
order,  and  the  friends  made  for  the 
bush,  with  a  day's  provision  and  their 
blankets,  their  picks,  and  their  revol- 
vers. When  they  arrived  at  the  edge 
of  the  bush,  Robinson  halted  and 
looked  round  to  see  if  they  were  fol- 
lowe<l.  The  night  was  pretty  clear  ; 
no  one  was  in  sight.  The  men  struck 
rapidly  into  the  bush,  which  at  this 
part  had  been  cut  and  cleare<l  in 
places,  lying  as  it  did  so  near  a  mine. 

"  What,  are  we  to  run,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  I  want  to  get  to  tlie  river  of 
quartz  as  soon  as  possible,"  was  the 
dry  answer. 

"  With  all  my  heart." 


After  running  about  half  a  mile, 
George  pulled  up,  and  they  walked. 

"  What  do  you  keep  looking  be- 
hind for,  Tom  (  " 

"  O,  nothing," 

"  You  fidget  me,  Tom  !  " 

"  Can't  help  it.  I  shall  be  like  that 
till  daylight.  They  have  shaken  my 
nerves  among  them." 

"  Don't  give  way  to  such  nonsense. 
What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  " 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  anything. 
Come,  George,  another  run." 

'*  O,  as  you  like  :  this  beats  all." 

This  run  brought  them  to  the  end 
of  the  broad  road,  and  they  found  two 
smaller  paths  ;  after  some  hesitation, 
Robinson  took  the  left-hand  one,  and 
it  landed  them  in  such  a  terribly  thick 
scrub  they  could  hardly  move.  They 
forced  their  way  through  it,  getting 
some  frightful  scratches,  but  after 
struggling  with  it  for  a  good  half- 
hour,  began  to  fear  it  was  impenetra- 
ble and  interminable,  when  the  sun  ris- 
ing showed  them  a  clear  space  some 
yards  ahead.  They  burst  through 
the  remainder  of  the  scrub,  and  came 
out  upon  an  old  clearing  full  a  mile 
long  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  broad. 
They  gave  a  hurrah  at  the  sight  of  it, 
but  when  they  came  to  walk  on  it  the 
ground  was  clay  and  so  stieky  with  a 
late  shower,  that  they  were  like  flies 
moving  upon  varnish,  and  at  last  were 
fain  to  take  off  their  shoes  and  stock- 
ings and  run  over  it  on  the  tips  of 
their  toes.  At  the  end  of  this  open- 
ing they  came  to  a  place  like  the 
"  Seven  -  Dials,"  —  no  end  of  little 
paths  into  the  wood,  and  none  very 
promising.  After  a  natural  hesita- 
tion, they  took  the  one  that  seemed 
to  be  most  on  their  line  of  march,  and 
followed  it  briskly  till  it  brought  them 
plump  upon  a  brook,  and  there  it 
ended.     Robinson  groaned. 

"  Confound  the  bush,"  cried  he. 
"  You  were  wrong  not  to  let  ine  bring 
Jacky.     What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Go  back." 

"  I  hate  going  back.  I  would  rath- 
er go  thirty  miles  ahead  than  one 
back.     I  've  got  an   idea ;  off  shoes 


«IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND." 


343 


nnd  pa(Wlo  up  the  stream  ;  perhaps 
we  sh.ill  HikI  a  path  that  comes  to  it 
from  the  other  j^ide." 

They  pathlled  up  the  st'-^am  a  lou;^ 
way,  and  at  hist,  sure  enough,  tliey 
found  a  ]ta;h  that  caino  dowu  to  tlie 
streaiu  froui  the  opposite  side.  They 
now  took  a  hasty  hreakfa>t,  washing; 
it  down  with  water  from  tlie  brook, 
then   dived  into  the  wood. 

T!ie  sun  was  hii^h  in  heaven,  yet 
still  they  had  not  gone  out  of  the 
bush. 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,  George,  there 
is  nothing  to  steer  by,  and  these  paths 
twist  and  turn  so.  I  don't  think  we 
shall  do  any  good  till  night.  When  I 
see  the  Southern  Cross  in  the  sky  I 
shall  be  al)le  to  steer  northeast.  That 
is  our  line." 

"  Don't  give  in,"  said  George;  "I 
think  it  looks  clearer  aliead.  I  be- 
lieve we  are  at  tlie  end  of  it." 

"  No  such  luck,  I  am  afraid,"  was 
the  despondent  reply. 

For  all  that,  in  a  few  yards  more 
they  came  upon  an  open  place. 

They  could  not  help  cheering. 
"  At  last !  "  cried  they.  But  this  tri- 
umph gave  way  to  doubts. 

"  1  am  afraid  we  are  not  clear  yet," 
said  Robinson.  "  See,  there  is  wood 
agiiu  on  the  other  side.  Why,  it  is 
that  sticky  clay  again.  Why,  George, 
it  is  the  clearing  we  crossed  before 
breakfast." 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,  Tom," 
cried  George,  angrily. 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  said  the  other, 
sadly.  "  Come  across.  We  shall 
soon  know  by  our  footsteps  in  the 
clay." 

Sure  enouirh,  half-way  across  they 
found  a  track  of  footsteps.  George 
Avas  staggered.  "  It  is  the  place,  I 
really  think,"  said  he.  "  But,  Tom, 
w!ien  you  talk  of  the  footsteps,  look 
here  ?  You  and  I  never  m.tde  all 
these  tracks.  This  is  the  track  of  a 
party." 

Ivol)inson  examined  the  ground. 

"  Tracks  of  three  men  :  two  bare- 
foot, one  in  nailed  boots. 

"  Well,  is  that  us  1  " 


"  Look  at  the  clearing,  George,  you 
have  got  eyes.     It  is  the  .^ame." 

"  So  'i  is,  but  I  can't  make  out  the 
three  tracks." 

Hol)ins()n  groaned.  "  I  can.  This 
third  track  has  come  since  we  went 
by." 

"  No  doul)t  of  that,  Tom.     Well  1 " 

"  Well,  don't  vou  sec  {  " 

"No.     What*?" 

"  You  and  I  are  being  hunted." 

George  looked  blank  a  moment. 
"  Can't  we  be  followed  without  being 
hunted  ?  " 

"  No ;  others  might,  but  not  me. 
We  are  beiny;  hunted,"  said  Rottinson, 
sternly.  "  George,  I  am  sick  of  this, 
let  us  end  it.  Let  us  show  these  fel- 
lows they  are  hunting  lions  and  not 
sheep.     Is  your  revolver  loaded  1  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  come  on  !  "  And  he  set  off 
to  run,  following  the  old  tracks. 
George  ran  by  his  side,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing with  excitement.  They  came  to 
the  brook.  Robinson  showed  George 
that  their  pursuer  had  taken  some 
steps  down  the  stream.  "  No  matter," 
said  he,  "don't  lose  time,  George,  go 
right  up  the  bank  to  our  path.  He 
will  have  puzzled  it  out,  you  may 
take  your  oath." 

Sure  enough  they  found  another 
set  of  footsteps  added  to  their  own. 
Robinson  paused  belore  entering  the 
wood.  He  put  fresh  caps  on  his  re- 
volver. "  Now,  George,"  said  he,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  we  could  n't  sleep  in  tliis 
wood  without  having  our  throats  cut, 
but  before  night  I  '11  be  out  of  danger 
or  in  my  grave,  for  life  is  not  worth 
having  in  the  midst  of  enemies. 
Htisli !  hus-s-sh  !  You  must  not  speak 
to  me  but  in  a  whisper." 

"  No  !  "  whispered  George. 

"Nor  rustle  against  the  boughs." 

"No,  I  won't,"  whispered  George. 
"  But  make  me  sensible,  Tom.  Tell 
m<'  what  ail  this  caurion  is  to  lead  to. 
What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"I    AM    HUNTING    THE    HUNTER  !" 

hissed  Rol)inson,  with  concentrated 
fury.  And  he  glided  ra))idly  down 
the  trodden  path,  his  revolver  cocked, 


344 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND." 


his  ears  pricked,  his  eye  on  fire,  and 
his  teeth  clenched. 

Georj;e  followed,  silent  and  cau- 
tious, his  revolver  ready  cocked  in  his 
hand. 

As  they  glided  thus,  followinj^  their 
own  footsteps,  and  hunting  their  hunt- 
er Avith  gloomy  hrovvs,  and  nerves 
quivering-,  and  hearts  darkening  with 
anger  and  l)ittcrness,  sudden  a  gloom 
fell  upon  the  wood,  —  it  darkened  and 
darkened.  Meantime  a  breeze  chill 
as  ice  disturbed  its  tepid  and  close  air, 
forerunner  of  a  great  wind  which  was 
soon  heard,  first  moaning  in  the  dis- 
tance, then  howling  and  rushing  up, 
and  sweeping  over  the  tall  trees  and 
rocking  them  like  so  mnny  bulrushes. 
A  great  storm  was  coming. 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

This  very  afternoon  Mr.  Levi 
came  to  inquire  for  George  Fielding. 
Unable  to  find  him,  he  asked  of  sev- 
eral diggers  where  the  young  man 
was  ;  he  could  get  no  information 
till  Jem  saw  him,  and  came  and  told 
him. 

Now  when  he  heard  they  were 
gone,  and  not  expected  back  for  some 
days,  Isaac  gave  quite  a  start,  and 
showed  a  degree  of  regret  and  vexa- 
tion that  Jem  was  puzzled  to  account 
for. 

On  reflection  he  begged  Jem  to 
come  to  his  tent ;  there  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  letter. 

*'  Young  man,"  said  he,  "I  do  en- 
treat you  to  give  this  to  George  Field- 
ing the  moment  he  returns  to  the 
ciunp.  Why  did  he  go  without  com- 
ing to  see  n»e  1  my  old  heart  is  full 
of  misgivings." 

"  You  need  n't  have  any,  sir,"  said 
Jem,  surprised  at  the  depth  of  feeling 
in  the  old  Jew's  face  and  voice.  "  He 
si  1  all  have  the  letter,  you  may  de- 
pend." 

Levi  thiinked  him. 

He  tlien  said  to  Nathan :  "  Strike 


the  tents,  collect  our  party,  and  let  us 
be  gone." 

"  VVIiat!  going  to  leave  us,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  young  man,  this  verv  hour." 

"  Well  now,  1  am  sorry  i'or  that, 
and  so  will  tlie  captain  be,  and  his  pal 
that  you  think  so  much  of." 

"  We  shall  not  he  lung  parted," 
said  the  old  man,  in  his  sweet  musical 
Eastern  accent,  "  not  very  long  if  >  ou 
are  faithful  to  your  trust  and  give  the 
good  young  man  my  letter.  May 
good  angels  hover  round  him,  may 
the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob 
guard  him  !  " 

"Amen!"  said  rough  Jem;  for 
the  reverend  face  glowed  wiih  piety, 
and  the  voice  was  tJic  voice  of  pniyer. 

Suddenly  an  unpleasant  reflection 
occurred  to  Jem. 

"  Well,  but,  if  you  go,  who  is  to 
buy  our  gold-dust?  " 

"  The  Christian  merchants,"  said 
Isaac,  with  an  indifferent  air. 

"  But    they   are   such Jews," 

cried  Jem,  inadvertently.  "  I  mean, 
—  I  mean  —  "  And,  rough  as  he  was, 
he  looked  as  if  he  could  have  bitten 
his  tongue  ofl". 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said 
Isaac,  sadly.  He  added!  "Such  as 
they  are,  they  are  all  you  have  now. 
The  old  Jew  was  hunted  and  hooted 
and  insulted  in  tliis  place  yesterday ; 
here  then  he  trades  no  more  ;  those 
who  set  no  value  on  him  can  of  course 
supply  his  place." 

"  The  blackguards,"  cried  Jem, 
"  the  ruflians,  I  wish  I  had  seen 
them.  Come,  Mr.  Levi,  that  was  not 
the  mine:  that  was  only  the  riflratf; 
you  might  forgive  us  that." 

"  1  never  forgive,"  was  the  calm 
reply. 


CHAPTER  LXVin. 

A  TREMEXDors  snow-stovm  fell 
u])on  the  mine  and  drove  Jem  into 
his  tent,  where  he  Avas  soon  alt  r 
joined  by  Jacky,  a  circumstance  in 
itself  sufficient  to  provo.  tlie  violence 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


345 


of  the  storm,  for  Jacky  loathed  in- 
doors, it  clioked  him  a  jrood  deal. 

Tlie  more  was  Jem  surprised  when 
hu  hoard  a  hiincntahle  howl  coininj; 
n<areraiid  nearer,  and  a  woman  burst 
into  his  tent,  a  more  pilhir  of  snow, 
for  s!ie  was  covered  with  a  thou- 
sand flakes  each  as  big  as  a  lady's 
hand. 

"  Oebone  !  ochone  !  ochone  !  " 
cried  Miry  M'Do^lierty,  and,  on  be- 
in^  askrd  wliat  was  the  matter,  slie 
sat  down  and  rocked  herself  and 
moaned  and  cried,  "Ochone, — oeh 
captain  avick  wliat  will  1  do  for  you  ? 
an'  wlio  will  I  find  to  save  you  ?  an' 
oh  it  is  tiie  warm  heart  and  the  kind 
heart  that  ye  had  to  poor  Molly 
M'Doirherty  that  ud  give  her  life  to 
save  yours  this  day." 

"  The  captain,"  cried  Jem,  in  great 
alarm.  "  What  is  wrong  with  the 
captain  ?  " 

"  He  is  lying  could  and  stiff  in  the 
dark,  bloody  wood.  Oeh  the  mur- 
thering  villains  !  oeh  what  will  1  do 
at  all  !  oeh  captain  avick  warm  was 
yoijr  heart  to  the  poor  Irisli  boys, 
but  it  is  could  now.  Ochone  ! 
ochone  !  " 

"  Woman,"  cried  Jem,«in  great  agi- 
tation, "  leave  off  blubbering  and  tell 
me  what  is  the  matter." 

Thus  blandly  interrogated,  Mary 
told  hini  a  story  (often  iiiterru])ted 
with  tears  and  siglis)  of  what  had 
been  heard  and  seen  yestereve  by  one 
of  the  Irish  boys,  —  a  story  that  turned 
liim  cold,  for  it  left  on  him  the  same 
impression  it  had  left  on  the  warm- 
hearted Irishwoman,  that  at  this  mo- 
ment, his  good  friend  was  lying  dead 
in  tlie  bush  hard  by. 

He  ro-e  and  loaded  Robinson's 
double  barrelled  gun :  he  loatldl  it 
with  bullets,  and,  as  he  rammed  them 
fiercely  down,  he  said  angrilv  :  "  Leave 
off  crying  and  wringing  your  hands  ; 
what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  that  ? 
here  goes  to  save  him  or  to  revenge 
him." 

"  An'  oeh,  James,  take  the  wild  In- 
pine  wid  ye;  they  know  them  bloody, 
murthering  woods  belter  than  our 
15* 


boys,  glory  be  to  God  for  taching 
them  that  same." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  take  him.  You 
hear,  Jaeky,  will  you  show  me  how 
to  finil  the  poor  dear  captain  and  his 
mate  if  they  are  in  hfe  ?  " 

"  If  they  are  alive,  Jaeky  will  find 
them  a  good  deal  soon,  —  if  they  are 
dead,  still  Jacky  will  find  them." 

The  Irishwoman's  sorrow  burst  out 
afresh  at  the-e  words.  The  savage 
then  admitted  the  probability  of  that 
she  dreaded. 

"  And  their  enemies,  — the  coward- 
ly villains,  —  what  will  you  do  to 
them  ?  "  asked  Jem,  black  with  rage. 

Jacky's  answer  made  Mary  scream 
with  affri;;ht,  and  startled  even  Jem's 
iron  nerves  for  a  moment.  At  the 
very  first  word  of  the  Iiishwoman's 
story,  the  savage  had  seated  himself 
on  the  ground  with  his  back  turned 
to  the  others,  and,  unnoticed  by  them, 
had  rapidly  painted  his  face  with  the 
war-paint  of  his  tribe.  Words  can- 
not describe  the  ghastly  terrors,  the 
fiendish  ferocity,  these  traditional  lines 
and  colors  gave  his  couiitenancc. 
This  creature,  that  looked  so  like  a 
fiend,  came  erect  into  the  middle  of 
the  tent  with  a  sinirle  bound,  as  if 
that  moment  vomited  forth  by  hell, 
and  yet  with  a  grander  carriage  and 
prineelier  presence  than  he  had  worn 
in  time  of  peace ;  and  even  as  he 
bounded  he  crossed  his  tomahawk  and 
narrow  wooden  shield,  to  signify  that 
his  answer  was  no  vulgar  assevera- 
tion, l)ut  a  vow  of  sacred  war. 

"  Kalingal^nga  will  kill 
thkm,  and  drink   their  hlood." 

Kaliniraliinga  glided  from  the  tent. 
Jem  followetl  him.  The  snow  fell  in 
flakes  as  lar<;e  as  a  lady's  hand,  and 
the  air  was  dark  ;  Jem  conM  not  see 
where  the  hunter  was  taking  him,  but 
he  strode  after  him  and  trusted  lo  his 
sagacity. 

Five  hours'  hard  walkiuL:.  and 
then  the  snow  left  off.  The  air  l>e- 
came  clear,  and  to  Jem's  sur])rise  the 
bush,  instead  of  beinLT  on  his  ri<_dit 
hand,  was  now  on  his  left  ;  and  there 
on  its  skirts,  about  a  mile  off,  was  the 


546 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


native  camp.  They  had  hardly  come 
in  sij^lit  of  it  wlien  it  was  seen  to 
break  from  quietude  into  extraordi- 
nary bustle. 

"  What  is  up  ?  "  asked  Jem. 

The  hunter  smiled,  and  pointed  to 
his  own  face  :  — 

"  Kalingalunga  painted  war." 

"  What  eyes  the  beggars  must 
have,"  said  Jem. 

The  next  minute  a  score  of  black 
figures  came  tearing  up  in  such  ex- 
citement that  their  long  rows  of  white 
teeth  and  the  whites  of  their  eyes 
flashed  like  Bude-lights  in  their  black 
heads. 

Kalingalunga  soon  calmed  them 
down  by  letting  them  know  that  he 
was  piiiiited  for  a  private,  not  a  na- 
tional feud.  He  gave  them  no  fur- 
ther information.  I  suspect  he  was 
too  keen  a  sportsman  to  put  others 
on  the  scent  of  his  game.  He  went 
all  through  the  camp,  and  ascertained 
from  the  stragglers  that  no  men 
answering  the  description  of  George 
and  Robinson  had  passed  out  of  the 
wood. 

"  They  are  in  the  wood,"  said  he. 

He  then  ordered  a  great  fire,  — 
hade  Jem  dry  his  clothes  and  eat ;  he 
collected  two  of  his  wives  and  com- 
mitted Jem  to  their  care,  and  glided 
like  a  panther  into  the  wood. 

What  with  the  great  heat  succeed- 
ing to  the  great  cold,  and  the  great 
supper  the  gins  gave  him,  Jem  fell 
fast  asleep.  It  was  near  dayli^rht 
when  a  hand  was  Inid  on  his  shoulder, 
and  there  was  Kalingalunga. 

"  Not  a  track  on  the  snow." 

"  No  ?  then  let  us  hope  they  are  not 
in  the  wood." 

Tlie  hunter  hung  his  head. 

"  Me  tiiik  they  are  in  the  wood," 
said  he,  gravely. 

Jem  groaned,  "  Then  they  are  lying 
under  the  soil  of  it  or  in  some  dark 
pit." 

Kalingalunga  reflected :  he  replied 
to  ihi^  effect :  — 

"  That  there  were  no  more  traces 
of  an  assassin  than  of  victims,  conse- 
quently that  it  was  impossible  to  know 


anything,  and  that  it  was  a  good  deal 
too  stupid  to  speak  a  good  deal  know- 
ing notliing." 

All  this  time  Jem's  fear  and  rage 
and  impatience  contrasted  greatly  with 
the  philosophic  phlegm  of  the  Pict, 
who  looked  so  fierce  and  took  it  all  so 
cool,  ending  with  an  announcement 
that  now  Kalingalunga  would  sleep  a 
good  deal. 

The  chief  was  soon  asleep,  but  not 
till  he  had  ordered  his  gins  to  wake 
him  the  moment  the  snow  should  be 
melted.  This  occurred  at  noon,  and 
after  snatching  a  hasty  meal  he  put 
a  tomahawk  into  Jem's  hands  and 
darted  into  the  bush. 

All  the  savage's  coldness  disap- 
peared now  he  was  at  work.  He  took 
Jem  right  across  the  wood  from  south- 
east to  northwest.  Nothing  stopped 
him.  When  the  scrub  was  thick 
above  but  hollow  below,  he  threw  him- 
self on  his  belly  and  wriggled  along 
like  a  snake.  When  it  was  all  thick, 
he  hacked  into  it  with  fury  and  forced 
a  path.  When  it  was  impenetrable, 
he  went  round  it,  and  by  some  won- 
derful instinct  got  into  the  same  line 
again.  Thus  they  cut  clean  across 
the  wood  but  found  no  tracks.  Then 
the  savage,  being  out  in  the  open, 
trotted  easily  down  the  woodside  to 
the  southwest  point,  here  he  entered 
and  took  a  line  straight  as  an  arrow 
to  the  northeast. 

It  was  Rbout  five  in  the  afternoon. 
Kalingalunga  was  bleeding  all  over 
with  scratches,  and  Jem  was  torn  to 
pieces  and  done  up.  He  was  just 
about  to  tell  the  other  that  he  must 
give  in,  when  Kalingalunga  suddenly 
stopped,  and  pointed  to  the  ground :  — 

"  Track  !  " 

"  What  of  ?  " 

"  A  white  man's  shoe." 

"  How  many  are  there  ?  " 

"One." 

Jem  sighed. 

"  I  doubt  it  is  a  bad  job,  Jacky,** 
said  he. 

"  Follow,  —  not  too  close,"  was 
the  low  reply. 

And  the  panther  became  a  serpent. 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


347 


—  po  pmooth  and  undulatinp:  were  the 
motions  with  which  he  <;;li(lc(l  upon 
the  traik  ho  had  now  discovered. 

Jem,  well  aware  tliat  he  couUl  not 
move  noiselessly  like  the  sava;^e, 
oheycd  him  and  crept  after  at  some 
distance. 

The  savage  had  followed  the  man's 
footsteps  al)out  half  a  mile,  and  the 
white  man  the  savage,  when  suddenly 
both  were  diverted  from  their  pur- 
pose. Kalingalimga  stood  still  and 
beckoned  Jem.  Jem  ran  to  him,  and 
found  him  standing  snuffing  the  air 
with  his  great  broad  nostrils,  like  a 
stag. 

"  What  is  it?" 

"  White  fellow  burn  wambiloa 
wood." 

"  How  d'  ye  know  ?  how  d'  ye 
know  ?  " 

"  Wambiloa  wood  smell  a  good 
way  otF  when  him  burn." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  it  is  a 
white  man  ?  " 

"  Black  fellow  never  burn  wambi- 
loa wood  ;  not  good  to  burn  that. 
Keep  it  for  milmeridien." 

The  chief  now  cut  off  a  few  of  his 
long  hairs  and  held  them  up  to  ascer- 
taiii  the  exact  direction  of  the  wind. 
This  done,  he  barked  a  tree  to  mark 
the  spot  to  which  he  had  followed 
the  trail,  and  striking  out  into  quite 
a  ditferent  direction  he  hunted  by 
scent. 

Jem  expected  to  come  on  the  burn- 
ing wambiloa  very  soon,  but  he  un- 
derrated eitlier  tlie  savage's  keen 
scent  or  th^i  acrid  odor  of  the  sacred 
wood,  —  perhaps  both.  They  had 
gone  half  a  mile  at  least  before  his 
companion  thought  it  necessary  to 
sIjow  any  caution.  At  last  he  stopped 
short,  and  then  Jem  smelled  a  smell 
as  if  "  cinnamon  and  ginger,  nutmegs 
and  cloves,"  were  all  blazing  in  one 
bonfire.  With  soma  difficulty  he  was 
prevailed  on  to  stand  still  and  let  the 
subtle  native  creep  on,  nor  would  he 
consent  to  l>e  inactive  until  the  other 
sohminly  vowed  to  come  l)ackfor  him 
and  give  him  his  full  shire  of  the 
fighting.     Then    Kalingalunga    went 


gliding  like  a  shadow  and  flitted  from 
tree  to  tree. 

Woe  be  to  the  enemy,  the  subtle, 
noiseless,  pitiless,  remorseless  savage 
surprises ;  he  has  not  put  on  his  wai* 
paint  in  sport  or  for  barren  show. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

A  MAN  was  hunting  Robinson  and 
George  Fielding,  and  they  were  hunt- 
ing him.  Both  parties  inflamed  with 
rage  and  bitterness  ;  both  master  of 
the  other's  fate,  they  thought. 

A  change  of  wind  brought  a  fall  of 
snow,  and  the  fall  of  snow  baffled  both 
parties  in  five  minutes.  Down  came 
the  Australian  tiakes  large  as  a  wo- 
man's hand  (I  am  not  romancing), 
and  effaced  the  tracks  of  the  pursuing 
and  pursued  and  pursvicrs.  So  tre- 
mendous was  the  fall  that  the  two 
friends  thought  of  nothing  but  shelter. 
They  drew  their  blankets  over  their 
heads  and  ran  hither  and  thither  look- 
ing for  a  friendly  tree.  At  lust  they 
found  an  old  tree  with  a  prodigious 
stem  that  parted  about  ten  feet  up 
into  two  folks.  With  some  effort 
they  got  up  into  tliis  cleft,  and  then 
they  were  on  a  natural  platform. 
Robinson  always  carried  nails  in  his 
pocket,  and  he  contrived  to  nail  the 
two  blankets  to  the  forks  so  as  to  make 
a  screen.  Then  they  took  out  tlieir 
provisions  and  fortified  themselves 
wiih  a  hearty  supper. 

As  they  were  eating  it  they  were 
suddenly  startled  by  an  explosion  so 
tremendous  that  their  tree  seemed  to 
have  been  struck  by  lighrninir.  Out 
went  Robinson  with  his  month  full  on 
to  a  snowdrift  four  feet  high.  He 
looked  up  and  saw  the  cause  of  the 
fracas.  A  large  bough  of  a  neighbor- 
ing tree  had  j)arted  from  the  trunk 
with  the  enormous  weight  of  the  snow. 
Robinson  climbed  back  to  George  and 
told  him.  Supper  recommenced,  but 
all  over  the  wooil  at  intervals  thoy 
now  heard  huge  forks  and  boughs 
parting    from     their     parent     stems 


M 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


with  a  report  like  a  thirty-two-pound- 
cr  rinyiiijjf  and  cclioiiij^  tliroiig-ti  the 
wood  :  others  so  distant  that  they  were 
hke  cratkers. 

These  sounds  were  very  appalhnj; 
in  the  j,'hostly  wood.  The  men  in- 
stinctively drew  closer  to  each  other; 
but  they  were  no  chickens  :  use  soon 
hardened  them  even  to  this.  They 
settlid  it  tliat  the  forks  they  were  sit- 
ting on  would  not  ^ive  way,  because 
there  were  no  leaves  on  them  to  hold 
a  <:reat  burden  of  snow  :  and  soon 
they  yielded  to  nature  and  fell  fast 
asleep  in  spite  of  all  the  dangers  that 
hemmed  them. 

At  his  legular  hour,  just  before  sun- 
rise, Kobinsou  awoke  and  peeped 
from  below  the  blanket.  He  shook 
George. 

"  Get  up  directly,  George.  We  are 
wasting  time  when  time  is  gold." 

"What  is  it?  " 

"  '  What  is  it  ? '  There  is  a  pilot  in 
the  sky,  that  will  take  us  out  of  this 
cursed  trap,  if  the  day  does  not  come 
and  spoil  all." 

George's  eye  followed  Robinson's 
finger,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  dark 
vault  of  heaven  this  glittered. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

I  KNOW  it,  Tom.  When  I  was 
sailing  to  this  country  we  canie  to  a 
part  where  the  north  star  went  down 
and  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  this 
was  all  we  got  in  exchange  for  it." 

"  George,"  said  Tom,  lather  stern- 
ly, "  how  do  you  know  they  don't 
bear  us,  and  here  we  are  surrounded 
by  enemies,  and  would  you  run  down 
our  only  friend  ?  That  silver  star 
will  save  our  lives  if  they  are  to  be 
saved  at  all.  Come  on  ;  and,  George, 
if  you  were  to  take  your  revolver  and 
blow  out  my  brains,  it  is  no  more  than 
1  deserve  for  sleejjing  away  the  ])re- 
cious  hours  of  night,  when  I  ought  to 
have  been  steering  out  of  this  cursed 
timber-net  by  that  blessed  star." 

With  these  words  Robinson  dived 
into  the  wood,  steering  due  east  by 
tlie  Southern  Cross.  It  was  like  go- 
ing through  a  fi  ozen  river.  '  The  scrub 
was  loaded  with  snow,  which  it  dis- 
charged in  masses  on  the  travellers  at 
every  step. 

"  Keep  your  revolver  dry  in  your 
hat  and  your  lucifers  too,"  cried  Rob- 
inson. "  We  shall  have  to  use  them 
both  ten  to  one.  As  to  our  skins, 
that  is  hopeless." 

Then  the  men  found  how  hard  it  is 
to  take  a  line  and  keep  it  in  the  Aus- 
tralian bush.  When  the  Southern 
Cross  was  lost  in  a  cloud,  though  but 
for  a  minute,  they  were  sure  to  go  all 
wrong,  as  they  found  upon  its  reap- 
pearance ;  and  sometimes  the  scrub 
was  impenetrable  and  they  were  forced 
to  go  round  it  and  walk  ibnr  himdred 
yards,  advancing  eastward  but  twenty 
or  thirty. 

Thus  they  battled  on  till  the  sun 
rose. 

"  Now  we  shall  lie  all  in  the  dark 
again,"  said  poor  Robinson,  "  here 
comes  a  fog." 

"  Stop,  Tom,"  said  George ; 
"oughtn't  we  to  make  this  good  be- 
fore we  go  on  '^  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  have  come  riirht  by  the  star 
so  far,  have  we  not  ?  "  —  "  Yes." 


«./r  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


349 


"Then  let  us  bark  fifty  of  these 
trees  for  a  m.irk.  1  have  seen  that 
varmint  Jacky  do  tli  it." 

"  A  aii)iial  idea,  George  ;  out  with 
our  knives,  —  liere  j;oes," 

"  No  breakfast  to-iiay,  Tom." 

"  No,  Gooi'^e,  nor  dniner  either,  till 
we  are  out  of  tlio  wood." 

Tliese  two  poor  fellows  walked 
and  ran  an  1  crept  and  strug<;led  all 
day,  soiuctinaL'S  hopinii;,  sometimes 
di'spondin.;.  At  last,  at  five  o'elock 
in  I  ho  alU'r!ioon,  their  bellies  jrnawed 
with  hunji'r,  their  clothes  torn  to  rai^s, 
tlieir  skin  hleedin;;,  they  came  out  up- 
on some  trees  with  the  bark  stripped. 
They  gave  one  another  a  look  that 
words  can  ha-dly  paint.  Th^jy  were 
the  trees  they  hud  barked  twelve  hours 
ago  ! 

The  men  stood  silent,  —  neither 
cared  to  tell  the  other  all  he  felt, — 
for  now  there  crept  over  these  two 
stout  bosoms  a  terrible  chill,  the  sense 
of  a  danger  new  to  them  in  expe- 
rience, but  not  new  in  report.  They 
had  heard  of  settlers  and  others 
who  had  been  lost  in  the  fatal  laby- 
rinth of  the  Australian  bush,  and 
now  they  saw  how  easily  it  might  be 
true." 

"  We  may  as  well  sit  down  here 
and  rest ;  we  shall  do  no  good  till 
night.  What,  are  you  in  pain, 
GeoriTC  1  " 

"  Yes,  Tom,  a  little." 

"  Where  ^  " 

"  Something  gnaws  my  stomach 
like  an  a  Ider." 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  soldier's  gripes," 
said  Tom,  with  a  ghastly  attempt  at 
a  jest.  "  Poor  George ! "  said  he,  kind- 
ly, "  I  dare  say  you  never  knew  what 
it  was  to  go  twenty-four  hours  with- 
out food  before." 

"  Never  in  my  life,  Tom." 

"  Well,  1  have,  and  1  '11  tell  you 
the  only  thing  to  do  :  when  you  can't 
fill  the  b  ead-biisket,  —  shut  it.  Go 
to  sleep  till  the  Southern  Cross  comes 
out  aiain." 

"  What,  sleep  in  our  dripping 
clothes  ?  " 

"  No,  we  will  make  a  roaring  fire 


with  these  stripiL  of  bajjtf^  they  arfr 
dry  as  tinder  by  now.''-::;:— —  -  - 

A  pyre  four  feet  high  was  raised, 
the  strips  being  laid  from  north  to 
south  and  east  to  west  alternately, 
and  they  dried  their  blankets  and 
warmed  their  smoking  bodies. 

"  George,  I  have  got  two  cigars  ; 
they  must  last  us  two  days." 

"  O,  I  'm  no  great  smoker,  — keep 
them  for  your  own  comfort." 

Robinson  wore  a  sad  smile. 

"  We  can't  afford  to  smoke  them  ; 
this  is  to  chew  ;  it  is  not  food,  George, 
but  it  keeps  the  stomach  from  eating 
itself.  We  must  do  the  best  for  our 
lives  we  can  for  Susan's  sake." 

"  Give  it  me,  Tom  ;  1  '11  chew  it,  and 
thank  you  kindly.  You  are  a  wise 
companion  in  adversity,  Tom  ;  it  is  a 
great  grief  to  me  that  I  have  brought 
you  into  this  trouble,  looking  for  what 
I  know  you  think  is  a  mare's  nest,  as 
the  saying  is." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  George.  True  pals 
like  you  and  me  never  reproach  one 
another.  They  stand  and  fall  together 
like  men.  The  fire  is  warm,  George, 
—  that  is  one  comfort." 

"  The  fire  is  well  enough,  but  there 's 
nothing  down  at  it.  I  'd  jzive  a  hun- 
dred pounds  for  a  mutton  chop." 

The  friends  sat  like  sacrifices  by 
the  fire,  and  chewed  their  cigars  in 
silence,  with  foreboding  hearts.  After 
a  while,  as  the  heat  laid  hold  of  him, 
George  began  to  doze.  Robinson  felt 
inclined  to  do  the  same :  but  the 
sen«e  that  perhaps  a  human  enemy 
might  be  near  caused  him  to  fight 
against  sleep  in  this  exposed  locality  ; 
so,  whenever  his  head  bobbed  down, 
he  lifted  it  sharply  and  forced  his  eyes 
open.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occa- 
sions that,  looking  up,  he  saw,  set  as 
it  were  in  a  frame  of  leaves,  a  hideous 
countenance  glarin^r  at  him  ;  it  was 
painted  in  circular  lines,  red,  blue,  and 
white. 

"  Get  up,  George,"  roared  Robin- 
son ;  "  they  are  upon  us  !  " 

And  both  men  were  on  their  feet, 
revolvers  pointed.  The  leaves  parted, 
and   out  came    this    diabolical    face 


350 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


wliich  they  had  never  seen  hefore,  hut 
witli  it  a  figure  they  seemed  to  know, 
and  a  harsh  cackle  tiiey  instantly  rec- 
ognized, and  it  sounded  like  music  to 
them. 

"  O  my  dear  Jacky,"  cried  George, 
"who'd  have  thought  it  was  you! 
Well,  you  are  a  godsend !  Good 
afternoon.  O  Jacky  !  —  how  d'  ye 
dol" 

"  Jacky  not  Jaeky  now,  cos  um  a 
good  deal  angry,  and  paint  war.  Ka- 
lingalunga  l)erywelltanku "  (he  al- 
ways took  these  four  words  for  one). 
"  Now  I  go  fetch  white  fellow  "  ;  and 
he  disiippeared. 

"  Who  is  he  going  to  fetch '?  is  it 
the  one  that  was  following  us  ?  " 

"  No  douht.  Then,  Tom,  it  was  not 
an  enemy  after  all !  " 

Jaeky  came  back  with  Jem,  who, 
at  sight  of  them  alive  and  well,  burst 
into  extravagances.  He  waved  his 
hat  round  his  head  several  times  and 
then  flung  it  into  a  tree  ;  then  danced 
a  pas  seal,  consisting  of  steps  not  one 
of  them  known  at  the  opera-house,  and 
chanted  a  song  of  triumph  the  words 
of  which  were  Hi  tol  de  riddy  iddy 
dol,  and  tlie  ditty  naught ;  finally  he 
shook  hands  witli  both. 

"  Never  say  die  !  " 

"  Well,  that  is  hearty  !  and  how 
thoughtful  of  him  to  come  after  us, 
and  above  all  to  bring  Jacky  !  " 

"  That  it  was,"  replied  George. 
"Jem,"  said  he,  with  feeling,  "I 
don't  know  but  what  you  have  saved 
two  men's  lives." 

"If  I  don't  it  sha'n't  be  my  fliult, 
farmer." 

Georrjp.  "  0  Jacky,  I  am  so  hun- 
gry !  I  have  been  twenty-four  hours 
without  food." 

Kaliiir/arumja.  "  You  stupid  fellow 
to  go  widout  food,  always  a  good  deal 
food  in  bush." 

George.  "  Is  there  ?  then  for  Heav- 
en's sake  go  and  get  us  some  of  it." 

Knlingalunga.  "  No  need  go,  food 
here." 

He  stepped  up  to  the  very  tree 
ajrainst  which  George  was  standing, 
yiowed   him  an   excrescence  on  the 


bark,  made  two  clean  cuts  with  his 
tomahawk,  pulled  out  a  huge  whiu"! 
worm  and  offered  it  George.  George 
turned  from  it  in  disgust ;  the  wild 
chief  grinned  superior  and  ate  it  him- 
self, and  smacked  his  lips  with  infinite 
gusto. 

Meantime  his  quick  eye  had  caught 
sight  of  something  else.  "  A  good 
deal  dinner  in  dis  tree,"  said  he,  .md 
he  made  the  white  men  observe  some 
slight  scratches  on  the  bark.  "  Pos- 
sum claws  go  up  tree."  Then  he 
showed  them  that  there  were  no 
marks  with  the  claw  reversed,  a  clear 
proof  the  animal  had  not  come  down. 
"  Possum  in  tree." 

The  white  men  looked  up  into  the 
bare  tree  with  a  mixture  of  wonder 
and  incredulity.  Jacky  cut  steps 
with  his  tomahawk  and  went  up  the 
main  stem,  which  was  short,  and  then 
up  a  fork,  one  out  of  about  twelve, 
among  all  these  he  jumped  about  like 
a  monkey  till  he  found  one  that  Avas 
hollow  at  the  top. 

*■  Throw  Kalingaliinga  a  stone,  den 
he  find  possum  a  good  deal  ([uick." 

They  could  not  find  a  stone  for 
their  lives,  so,  being  hungry,  Kobinson 
tlirew  a  small  nugget  of  g'old  he  had 
in  his  pocket.  Jacky  caught  it,  placed 
it  at  the  top  of  the  hollow  fork  and  let 
it  drop.  Listening  keenly  his  fine  ear 
heaid  the  nugget  go  down  the  fork, 
striking  the  wood  first  one  side  then 
another,  and  then  at  a  certain  part 
sound  no  more.  Down  he  slips  to 
th;it  silent  part,  makes  a  deep  cut 
witii  his  tomahawk  just  above  the 
spot,  thrusts  in  his  hand  and  pulls  out 
u  large  opossum,  yelling  and  scratch- 
ing and  emitting  a  delicious  scent  in 
an  agony  of  fear.  The  tomahawk 
soon  silenced  him,  and  the  carcass 
fell  among  the  applauding  whites. 
Now  if  was  Robinson's  turn,  he 
carved  the  raw  animal  for  greater  ex- 
pedition, and  George  helped  him  to 
wrap  each  limb  and  carcass  in  a  thin 
covering  of  clay.  Thus  prepared  it 
was  thrust  into  the  great  pile  of  burn- 
ing ashes. 

"  Look  yonder,  do !   look   at   that 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


351 


Jem  !  Why,  Jem,  what  are  you  up 
to,  patrollin<j  like  a  sentinel  out 
there  ?  " 

*'  Never  you  heed  Jem,"  was  the 
dry  reply  ;  "you  mind  the  roast,  cap- 
tain, Mild  I  'II  mind  —  my  husiness  "  ; 
and  Jem  continued  to  parade  up  and 
down  with  his  };un  cocked  and  his  eye 
piercing;  the  wood. 

To  Kohinson's  repeated  and  uneasy 
inquiries  what  meant  this  pantomime, 
Jem  persisted  in  returniii«i:  no  answer 
but  tliis  :  "  You  want  your  dinner, 
captain  ;  eat  your  dinner,  and  then 
I  Ml  hoUer  a  hol)servation  ;  meantime, 
as  these  woods  are  queer  places,  a  lit- 
tle hextra  caution  is  no  sin." 

The  pie  dishes  were  now  drawn 
out  of  the  ashes  and  broken,  and  the 
meat  baked  with  all  its  juices  was 
grc'dily  dcvoureil.  "  It  tastes  like  a 
rabbit  stuffed  wit!»  peppermint,"  said 
Georj;e,  "and  uncommuu  nice  it  is. 
Now  I  am  another  man." 

"  So  am  I  ;  Jacky  forever  !  " 

"Now,  Jem,  I  have  dined:  your 
story,  if  you  please.  Why  are  you 
here  ?  for  you  arc  a  jzood  fellow,  but 
you  have  n't  jrot  gumption  enough  to 
say  to  yourself,  *  These  two  will  get 
lo>t  in  the  bu«h,  1  '11  take  Jacky  and 
pull  them  out.'  " 

"  You  are  right,  captain,  that 
was  n't  the  way  at  all  ;  and,  since  your 
belly  is  full  and  your  courage  up, 
you  will  be  able  to  enjoy  my  story 
better  than  you  could  afore." 

"  Yes,  so  let  us  have  it  "  ;  and  Rob- 
inson leaned  back  luxuriously,  being 
filled  and  warmed. 

"  First  and  foremost,"  commenced 
this  artful  narrator,  "  there  is  a  chap 
prowling  in  this  wood  at  the  pres- 
ent tim','  with  a  doublc-barelled  gun  to 
blow  out  your  brains,  captain." 

"  The  devil,"  cried  Robinson,  start- 
ing to  his  fcL't. 

"  And  yours,  farmer." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked 
George,  without  moving. 

"  That  i-;  what  I  an»  going  to  tell 
you.  That  Mary  M'Dogherty  came 
crying  to  my  tent  all  through  the 
snow.     '  What  is  up  1 '  says  I ;  says 


she,  '  Murder  is  up.*  Then  she  told 
me  her  cousin,  an  Irish  boy,  was  at 
Bevan's  store  and  he  heard  some 
(jueer  talk,  and  he  looked  through  a 
chink  in  the  wall  and  saw  two  rascals 
])utting  their  heads  together,  and  he 
soon  made  out  they  were  driving  a 
bargain  to  rob  you  two.  One  was  to 
do  it,  the  other  was  a  egging  him  on. 
'  I  must  have  fifty  pounds  first,'  says 
this  one.  '  Why  ? '  says  the  other. 
'  Because  he  has  been  and  locked 
my  pal  up  that  was  to  be  in  it  with 
me.'" 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Robinson.  "  Go  on, 
Jem, -^  there  is  a  dew  any  way." 

"  I  have  ^ot  a  thirker  one  behind. 
Says  the  other,  '  Agreed  !  when  will 
you  have  it  ?  '  *  Why,  now,'  says 
t'other.  Then  this  one  gave  him  a 
note.  Pat  couldn't  see  that  it  was  a 
fifty,  but  no  doubt  it  was,  but  he  saw 
the  man  take  it  and  put  it  in  a  little 
tin  box  and  shove  it  in  his  bosom." 

"  That  note  was  the  price  of 
blood,"  said  Robinson.  "  0  the 
black-hearted  villains.  Tell  me  who 
they  were,  that  is  all ;  tell  me  but  who 
they  were  !  " 

"  The  boy  did  n't  know." 

"  There  !  it  is  always  so.  The  fools ! 
they  never  know." 

"  Stop  a  bit,  captain,  there  is  a  clew 
(your  own  word)." 

"  Ay,  and  what  is  the  clew  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  ever  the  note  was  safe 
in  his  bosom  he  says  :  '  1  sold  you, 
blind  mate;  I'd  have  given  fifty 
sooner  than  not  done  t!iis  job.  Look 
here  ! '  says  he.  '  I  have  sworn  to  have 
a  life  for  each  of  these  ' ;  and,  captain," 
said  Jem,  suddenly  lowering  his 
voice,  "  with  that  it  seems  he  held  up 
his  right  hand." 

"  Well,  yes  !  yes  !  eh  ! " 

"  And  there  were  two  fingers  a 
missing  on  it!  " 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Now  those  two  fingers  are  the 
ones  you  chopped  off  with  your  cut- 
lass the  night  when  the  tent  was  at- 
tacked " 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  is  this  ?  you 
[  never  told  me  of  this,"  cried  George. 


352 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   JiIEND." 


"  And  which  are  in  my  pocket." 

"  In  your  pocket  ?  "  said  George, 
drawinj^  away  from  him. 

"  Ay,  farmer  !  "  wrapped  up  in  sil- 
ver pajx-r,  an<l  they  shall  never  leave 
my  pocket  till  I  have  fitted  them  on 
the  man,  and  seen  luiu  hung  or  shot 
with  them  two  pickers  and  stealers 
lied  round  his  blood-thirsty,  merce- 
nairy,  aass-aassinating  neck,  say  that 
I  said  it." 

Gvorgi'.  "  Jacky,  show  us  the  way 
i)Ut  of  this  wood." 

Kaliu;^aluiiga  bowed  assent,  but  he 
expressed  a  wish  to  take  with  him 
some  of  the  ashes  of  the  wainbiloa. 
George  helped  him. 

Kobinson  drew  Jem  aside.  "  You 
shouldn't  have  mentioned  that  before 
George ;  you  have  disgusted  him 
properly." 

"  O,  hang  him  !  he  need  n't  be  so 
Bqueamish  ;  why,  I  've  had  'em 
ult — " 

"  There,  there  !  drop  it,  Jem,  do  !  " 

"  Captain !  are  you  going  to  let 
them  take  us  out  of  the  wood  before  we 
have  hunted  it  for  that  scoundrel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Look  here,  Jem,  we 
ore  four,  and  he  is  one,  but  a  double- 
barrelled  gun  is  an  awkward  enemy 
in  a  dark  Avood.  No,  Jem,  we  will 
outwit  him  to  the  last.  We  will  clear 
the  wood  and  get  back  to  the  camp. 
He  doesn't  know  we  have  got  a  clew 
to  him.  He  will  come  i)ack  without 
fear,  and  we  will  nail  him  with  the 
fifiy-pound  note  upon  him  :  and  then, 
—  Jack  Ketch." 

The  whole  party  was  now  on  the 
move,  led  by  Kalmgalunga,  bearing 
the  sacred  ashes. 

"  What  on  earth  is  he  going  to  do 
with  them  ?  " 

The    chief  heard    this    query,  and 
looking  back  said  gravely,  "  He  take 
tht-m    to    '  Miimcridien  '  "  ;    and    the 
party   followed   Jacky,    who    twisted  j 
and  zit:zagged  about  the  bush,  till  at  | 
last  he  brought  tiiem  to  a  fairv  sjtot,  j 
whose  existence  in  that  ruirged  wood 
none  of  them  had  dreamed  possible,  i 
It  was  a  lontr,  open  gladi',  meander-  | 
ing  like  a  river  between  two  deep,  ir- 1 


regular  fringes  of  the  drooping  acacia, 
and  another  lovely  tree  which  I  only" 
know  by  its  uncouth,  unmelodious, 
scientiuncular  name,—  the  eucalvptus. 
This  tree,  as  well  as  the  drooping 
acacia,  leaned  over  the  ground  with 
long  leaves  like  dishevelled  hair. 

Kalingalunga  paused  at  the  brink 
and  said  to  his  comjjanions  in  a  low, 
awe-struck  voice,  "Milmeridien." 

The  glade  was  full  of  graves,  some 
of  them  Iresh,  glittering  with  bright 
red  earth  under  the  cool,  green  acacias, 
others  richly  veiled  with  golden  moss 
more  or  less  according  to  their  age  ; 
and  in  the  recesses  of  the  grove  peeped 
smoother  traces  of  mortality,  mossy 
mounds  a  thousand  years  old,  and 
others  far  more  ancient  still,  now 
mere  excrescences  of  green,  known  to 
be  graves  only  by  the  light  of  that 
immense  gradation  of  times  and  dates 
and  epochs. 

The  floor  of  the  open  glade  was 
laid  out  as  a  vast  parterre, — each 
grave  a  little  flower-bed,  round, 
square,  oval,  or  rhomboid  ;  and  all 
round  each  bed  flowed  in  fine  and 
graceful  curves  little  paths  too  narrow 
for  a  human  foot.  Primeval  tradition 
had  placed  them  there  that  spirits 
might  have  free  passage  to  visit  all 
the  mighty  dead.  P'or  here  reposed 
no  vulgar  corpses.  Here,  their  heads 
near  the  surface,  but  their  feet  deep 
in  earth,  sat  the  great  hunters  and 
warriors  of  every  age  of  the  race  of 
Kalingalunga,  once  a  great  nation, 
though  now  a  failing  tril)e.  They  sat; 
there  this  many  a  day,  their  weapons 
in  their  hands,  ready  to  start  up  when- 
ever the  great  signal  should  come,  and 
hunt  once  more,  but  without  fatigue, 
in  woods  boundless  as  the  sea,  and 
witii  l)odily  frames  no  longer  mortal, 
to  knock  and  be  knocked  on  the  head, 
ad  in  Jin  it  nm. 

Simple  and  benign  creed  ! 

A  cry  of  delitrSit  burst  from  the 
white  men,  and  they  were  going  to 
sf)read  themselves  over  the  garden  of 
the  dead. 

The  savage  checked  them  with 
horror. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND/ 


853 


"  Nobody  walk  there  while  him 
alive,"  said  he.  "  Now  you  follow 
me  ami  Mt»r  speak  any  words  at  all,  or 
l\.;iliiiy:aiiiii^'a  will  leave  you  iu  the 
bu>h.       Hush  1  " 

The  savaj,fe  paused,  that  even  the 
echo  of  his  reiuoiistranc-e  ini;rht  die 
Well  away  l)efore  he  traversed  the  <,^ar- 
deii.  lie  tlu-n  l)Owed  his  head  down 
upon  his  Itreast  iu  a  set  manner,  and  so 
remained  ({uiet  a  few  seconds.  In 
that  same  attitude  he  started  and 
walked  slowly  hy  the  ver<;e  of  the 
{^I.ide,  ke«pin<;  carefully  clear  of  the 
jir.ives,  and  never  raisinj;  his  head. 
AlM>ut  haif-way  he  stopped  and  rev- 
erently scattered  the  ashes  of  the 
wamhiloa  upon  three  fxraves  that  lay 
near  the  edjij:e,  then  forward,  —  silent, 
downcast,  reverential. 

"  ^Nlors  omnibus  est  communis  ! " 
The  white  men,  even  down  to  Jem, 
understood  and  sympathized  with 
Kalinjialiinga.  In  this  garden  of  the 
di^'ad  of  all  ages  they  felt  their  common 
humanity,  and  followed  their  black 
brother  silent  and  awe-struck  :  melted 
too  hy  the  sweet  and  sacred  sorrow 
of  this  calm  scene  :  for  here  Death 
seemed  to  relax  his  frown,  and  the 
dead  hut  to  rest  from  trouble  and  toil, 
mourned  by  gentle,  tender  trees  ;  and 
in  truth  it  was  a  beautiful  thought  of 
these  savaL'e  men  to  have  given  their 
dead  for  companions  those  rare  and 
droofiiuLT  acacias,  that  bowed  them- 
selves and  loosed  their  hair  so  like  fair 
women  abandoned  to  sorrow  over  the 
beloved  and  dead,  and  night  and  morn- 
int;  swejit  with  their  dewy  eyelashes 
tlie  pillows  of  the  brave.  Rcipuesrnnt 
in  })iice  !  —  rf surf  font  in  pacpin!  P\)r 
1  wi^h  them  better  than  they  wished 
t  lie  m  selves. 

Att<'r  Milmoridien  came  a  thick 
scrub,  through  which  Kalingalunira 
tracked  his  way;  and  then  a  loud 
hurrah  burst  from  all,  for  they  were 
free.  —  the  net  was  broken.  There 
were  the  mountains  before  them  and 
the  gaunt  wood  behind  them  at  last, 
'i'lie  iiaiivc  camp  was  visiMe  two  miles 
lii-  atit.  and  ihitlier  the  party  ran  and 
lidi.id  luod  and    fires    in   abundance. 


Black  sentinels  were  set  at  such  dis- 
tances as  to  render  a  sur[)rise  impos- 
sible, and  the  travellers  were  invited 
to  sleep  and  forget  all  their  troubles. 
Kohinson  and  flem  did  sleep,  and 
(ieorge  would  have  been  glad  to,  and 
tiied,  but  was  prevented  hy  an  unfor- 
tunate incident,  —  (cs  en  fans  Icrrilihs 
found  out  his  itdirinity,  viz.  that  noth- 
ing they  could  do  would  make  him 
hit  them.  So  half  a  dozen  little  rascals, 
potter  bellied  than  you  can  conceive, 
climl)ed  up  and  down  Geor<:e,  stick- 
ing in  their  twenty  claws  like  squir- 
rels, and  feeling  like  cold,  slippery 
slugs.  Thus  was  sleep  averted,  un- 
til a  merciful  gin,  hearing  the  man's 
groans,  came  and  cracked  two  or 
three  of  these  little  black  pots  with  a 
waddic  or  club,  so  then  George  got 
leave  to  sleep,  and  just  as  he  was 
dozing  off,  ting,  tong,  ti  tong,  tong, 
tong,  came  a  fearful  drumming  of 
parchment.  A  corroboree  or  native 
dance  was  beginnitig.  No  more  sleep 
till  that  was  over,  —  so  all  liamls 
turned  out.  A  space  was  cleared  in 
the  w-ood,  women  stood  on  both 
sides  with  flamin<;  boughs  and  threw 
a  bright  red  light  upon  a  particular 
portion  of  that  space  ;  the  rest  was 
dark  as  pitch.  Time,  midiii<.'ht. 
When  the  white  men  came  up,  the 
dancing  had  not  bef.am.  Kalin;:aliinga 
was  singing  a  preliminary  war  son;:. 

George  had  picked  uj)  some  of  the 
native  language,  and  he  exj)lained  to 
the  other  that  Jacky  was  singing 
about  some  great  battle,  near  the 
Wurra-Gurra  River. 

"  The  AYurra-Giirra  !  why,  that  is 
where  we  first  found  gold.'' 

"  Why,  of  course  it  is  !  and  —  yes  ! 
I  thouirlit  so." 

"  Thought  what  ?  " 

"  It  is  our  battle  he  is  descrilung." 

"  Which  of  'em  ?  —  we  live  in  hot 
water." 

"  The  one  before  Jem  was  our 
friend.  What  is  he  singing?  O, 
come  I  that  is  overdointr  it,  Jacky  ! 
Why,  Jem !  he  is  telling  them  he 
killed  you  on  the  spot." 

"  I  '11  punch  his  head  ! " 
W 


354 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   .MEXD." 


"  No !  take  it  easy,"  said  Robin- 
son ;  "  lie  is  a  poet ;  this  is  what  they 
call  poetical  license." 

"Lie  without  sense,  I  call  it  — 
when  here  is  the  man." 

"Tin<?  tong  !  ting  tong  !  tong  I  — 
I  sltw    him  —  he   fell  —  by    the    Wurra- 

Gurra  River. 
I  slew  him  '  —  ting  tong  '  he    fell  —  ting 

tong  ! 
By    the   Wurra-Ourra    River  —  ting    ting 

tong  !  " 

This  line  Jacky  repeated  at  least  forty 
times ;  but  he  evaded  monotony  by 
the  following  simple  contrivance :  — 

•'  I  slew  him  •,  he  fell  by  the  Wurra-Gurra 

River  —  ting  tong  ! 
/  slew  him  \  he  fell,  by  the  Wurra-Gurra 

River. 
I  slew  him  ;  he  fell,  by  the  Wurra-Gurra 

River,^' 

with  similar  changes,  and  then  back 
again. 

One  of  our  own  savages  saved  a 
great  poet  from  monotony  by  similar 
means  :  *  very  good  of  him. 

And  now  the  gins  took  up  the  tune 
without  the  words,  and  the  dance 
began  to  it.  First,  two  figures  ghast- 
ly with  white  piint  came  bounding 
like  Jacks-in-the-box  out  of  the  gloom 
into  the  red  light,  and  danced  grace- 
fully, —  then  one  more  popped  out,  — 
then  another,  at  set  intervals  of  time, 
—  then  another,  all  painted  diifeient- 
ly, — and  swelled  the  dance  by  de- 
grees ;  and  still,  as  the  dance  grew 
in  numbers,  the  musicians  sang  and 
drummed  louder  and  faster  by  well- 
planned  gradations,  and  the  motion 
rose  in  intensity,  till  they  all  warmed 
into  the  terrible  savage  corroboree 
jump,  legs  striding  wide,  head  turned 
over  one  shoulder,  the  eyes  glaring 
with  fiendish  intensity  in  one  direc- 
tion, the  arms  both  raised  and  grasp- 
ing wnddies  and  boomerangs,  —  till 
at   last   they    worked    up   to   such   a 

*  The  elder  Sheridan,  who  used  to  teach 
his  jmpils  to  thresh  dead  Dryden  out  thus  :  — 

]Von€  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave,  deserve  the  fair. 


(5ftlIop  of  fierce  buck-like  leaps,  that 
there  was  a  jump  for  each  beat  of  the 
music.  Now  they  were  in  four  lines, 
and  as  the  figures  in  the  front  line 
jumped  to  the  right,  each  keeping  his 
distance  to  a  hair,  the  second  line 
jumped  to  the  left,  the  third  to  the 
right,  and  the  fourth  to  the  left. 

The  twinkle  and  beauty  and  sym- 
metry of  this  was  admirable,  and, 
strange  as  it  may  appear,  not  only 
were  the  savages  now  wrought  up 
to  frenzy  at  this  climax  of  the  dance, 
but  the  wonderful  magnetic  influence 
these  children  of  Nature  have  learned 
to  create  and  launch  in  the  corro- 
boree so  stirred  the  white  men's 
blot)d,  that  they  went  half  mad  too, 
and  laughed  and  shouted  and  danced, 
and  could  hardly  help  flinging  them- 
selves among  the  mad  fiends,  and 
jumping  and  yelling  with  them  ;  and 
when  the  jump  was  at  its  fiercest  and 
quickest,  and  the  great  frenzy  boiling 
over,  these  cunning  artists  lirought  it 
to  a  dead  stop  sharp  upon  the  climax, 
—  and  all  was  still. 

In  another  minute  they  were  all 
snoring ;  but  George  and  Robinson 
often  started  in  their  slumbers,  dream- 
ing they  saw  the  horrid  figures, — 
the  skeletons,  lizards,  snakes,  tartan 
shawls,  and  whitened  fiends,  the 
whole  lot  blazing  at  the  eyes  and 
mouth  like  white  budelights,  come 
bounding  one  after  another  out  of  the 
black  night  into  the  red  torchlight, 
and  then  go  striding  and  jumping 
and  glaring  and  raging  and  bucking 
and  prancmg,  and  scattering  battle 
and  song  and  joy  and  rage  and  in- 
spiration and  stark-staring  frenzy  all 
around. 

They  awoke  at  daylight  rather 
cold,  and  found  piles  of  snow  upon 
their  blankets,  and  the  lizards  and 
skeletons  and  imps  and  tartan  shawls 
deteriorated.  The  snow  had  melted 
on  their  boilies,  and  the  colors  liad 
all  run,  —  some  of  them  away.  Quid 
miil/a  ?  we  all  know  how  beauties 
look  when  the  sun  breaks  on  them 
after  a  ball. 
I      They   asked   for    Jacky :    to  their 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


355 


prcat  ohajrrin  he  was  not  to  be  found. 
Tlioy  waited,  jr"ttinj;  crosser  and 
crosser,  till  nine  o'clock,  and  then  out 
comes  niv  lord  from  the  wood,  walk- 
in;;  towards  tliem  with  his  hea(i  down 
oil    his    hosom,    the    picture   of  woe, 

—  the  milmeridien  movement  over 
again. 

"  There  !  don't  let  us  scold  him," 
said  George,  "  I  am  sure  he  has  lost 
a  relation,  or  mayhe  a  dear  friend, 
any  way  I  hope  it  is  not  his  sweet- 
heart, —  poor  Jacky.  Well,  Jacky  ! 
I  am  glad  you  have  washed  your  face, 
now  1  know  you  again.  You  can't 
think  how  much  better  you  look  in 
your  own  face  tlian  painted  up  in  that 
unreasonable  way,  like  —  like  —  like 

—  I  dono-what-ail." 

"  Like  something  between  a  devil 
and  a  rainbow,"  suggested  Robin- 
son. 

"  But  what  is  wrong  ? "  asked 
George,  kindly.  "  I  am  almost  afraid 
to  ask  though  !  " 

Encouratred  by  the  tone  of  sympa- 
thy, the  afflicted  chief  f)ointed  to  his 
face,  sighe<l,  and  said  :  — 

*'  Kalingalimga  paint  war,  and  now 
IvMlintralunjrii  wash  um  face  and  not 
kill  anybody  first.  Kalingalimga 
Jacky  again,  and  show  your  white 
place  in  um  hill  a  good  deal  soon," 

And  the  amiable  heathen  cleared  up 
a  little  at  the  prospect  of  serving 
George,  whom  he  loved  —  aborigi- 
nally. 

Jem  remained  with  the  natives  upon 
some  frivolous  pretence.  His  real 
hope  was  to  catch  the  ruffian  whom 
he  secretly  believed  to  be  still  in  the 
wood.  "  He  is  like  enough  to  creep 
out  this  way,"  thought  Jem,  "  and 
then  —  won't  I  nail  him  !  " 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  standing 
under  the  spot  whose  existence  Rob- 
inson had  so  often  doubted. 

"  Well,  George,  you  painted  it  true  : 
it  really  is  a  river  of  quartz  runninir 
between  those  two  black  rocks.  And 
that  you  think  is  the  home  of  the 
gold,  eh  '  " 

"Well.  I  do.  Look  here,  Tom! 
look  at  this  great  large  heap  of  quartz 


boulders,  all  of  different  sizes  ;  they 
have  all  rolled  down  here  out  of  that 
river  of  quartz." 

"  Why,  of  course  they  have  !  who 
doubts  that  1  " 

*'  Many  is  the  time  I  have  sat  on 
that  green  mound  where  Jacky  is  sit- 
ting now,  and  eaten  my  bread  and 
cheese." 

"  I  dare  say  !  but  what  has  that  to 
do  with  it  ?  what  are  we  to  do?  Are 
we  to  go  up  the  rock,  and  peck  into 
that  mass  of  quartz  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  it  is  worth  while." 
"  Why,  it  would  be  like  biting  a 
piece  out  of  the  world  !  Look  here, 
Master  George,  we  can  put  your  no- 
tion ahout  the  home  of  the  gold  to  the 
test  without  all  that  trouble." 
"  As  how  ?  " 

"  You  own  all  these  quartz  stones 
rolled  out  of  yon  river;  if  so,  they  are 
samples  of  it.  Ten  thousand  quartz 
stones  is  quite  sample  enough,  so  be- 
gin and  turn  them  all  over,  examine 
them,  —  break  them  if  you  like.  If 
we  find  but  a  speck  of  gold  in  one  of 
them  I  '11  believe  that  quartz  river  is 
gold's  home,  —  if  not,  it  is  all  hum- 
bug ! " 

iGeorge  pulled  a  wry  face  ;  he  found 
himself  pinned  to  his  own  theory. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "I  own  the  sam- 
ple tells  us  what  is  in  the  barn  ;  so  now 
1  am  vexed  for  bringing  you  here." 

"  Now  we  are  here,  give  it  a  fair 
trial ;  let  us  set  to  and  hreak  every 
boulder  in  the  thundering  heap." 

They  went  to  work  and  picked  the 
quartz  boulders ;  full  two  hours  they 
worked,  and    by  this   time   they  had 
made    a    considerable    heap   of   bro- 
ken quartz ;   it  glittered  in  the   sun, 
I  but  it  glittered  white,  not  a  speck  of 
I  yellow  came  to  light. 
,       George     was     vexed.       Robinson 
grinned  ;  expecting  nothinir,  he  was  not 
■  disappointed.     Beside*,   lie   was   win- 
ning an  argument,  and  we  all  like  to 
I  turn  out  prophets.     Presently  a  littlo 
j  cackle  from  Jacky, 
"  I  find  um  !  " 

"  Find  what  ^  "  asked  Robinson, 
I  without  looking  up. 


356 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


"  A  good  (leal  yellow  stone,"  replied  [ 
Jacky,  witli  at  lea^t  ecjual  composure. 

'•  Lut  1110  see  tliat,"  said  George, 
with  considerable  curiosity  ;  and  tliey 
botli  went  to  Jacky.  j 

Now  the  tact  is  that  this  heap  of, 
quartz  stones  was  in  reality  much  | 
larger  than  they  tliou;^ht,  only  the  j 
greater  part  of  it  had  been  overgrown  | 
with  moss  and  patches  of  grass  a  few 
centuries  of  centuries  ago. 

Jacky,  seated  on  what  seemed  a 
grassy  'mound,  was  in  reality  perched 
upon  a  part  of  the  antique  heap ;  his 
keen  eye  saw  a  little  bit  of  yellow 
protruding  through  the  moss,  and  he 
was  amusing  himself  clipping  it  with 
his  tomahawk,  cutting  away  the  moss 
and  chipping  the  stone,  which  made 
the  latter  glitter  more  and  yellower. 

"  Hallo  I  "  cried  George,  "  this 
looks  better." 

Ivobinson  went  on  his  knees  with- 
out a  word. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  said  he,  in  a  great 
flutter,  "  it  is  a  nugget,  —  and  a  good- 
sized  one,  — a  pound  weight,  I  think. 
Now  then,  my  lad,  out  you  come  "  ; 
and  he  dug  his  fingers  under  it  to  jerk 
it  out. 

But  the  next  moment  he  gave  a 
screech  and  looked  up  amazed. 

"  Why,  this  is  the  point  of  the  nug- 
get ;  it  lies  the  other  way,  not  flat. 
George  I  I  can't  move  it!  The  pick  ! 
O  Lord!  0  Lord!  The  pick!  the 
pick  ! " 

"  Stand  clear,"  shouted  George, 
and  he  drove  the  point  of  the  pick 
down  close  by  the  prize,  then  he 
pressed  on  the  handle.  "  Why,  Tom, 
it  IS  jammed  somehow." 

"No  it  is  nor  jammed,  —  it  is  its 
own  weight.     Why,  George !  " 

"  Then,  Tom  !  it  is  an  hundred- 
weight if  it  is  an  ounce  !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  cried  the  other, 
trembling  all  over  ;  *'  there  is  no  such 
filing  in  nature." 

The  nuirget  now  yielded  slowly  to 
the  pressure,  and  began  to  come  up 
into  the  world  a<j:ain  inch  by  inch  af- 
ter so  many  thousand  years.  Of 
course,  before  it  could  come  all  out,  the 


soil  must  open  first,  and  when  Kobin- 
son,  glaring  down,  saw  a  s([uare  foot  of 
earth  part  and  gape  as  the  nugget 
came  majestically  up,  he  gave  another 
cry,  and  with  trembling  hands  laid 
bold  of  the  prize,  and  pulled  and 
tugged  and  rolled  it  on  the  clean  moss, 
—  to  life  it  was  not  so  easy.  They 
fell  down  on  tlieir  knees  by  the  side  of 
it  like  men  in  a  dream.  Such  a  thing 
had  never  been  seen  or  heard  of,  — a 
hundred- weight  of  quartz  and  gold, 
and  beautiful  as  it  was  great.  It  was 
like  honeycomb,  the  cells  of  which  had 
been  sliced  by  a  knife ;  the  shining 
metal  brimmed  over  in  the  delicate 
quartz  cells. 

They  lifted  it.  Yes,  full  a  hundred- 
weight ;  half  the  mass  was  quartz,  but 
four  fifths  of  the  weight  tliey  knew 
must  be  gold.  Then  they  jumped  up 
and  each  put  a  foot  on  it,  and  shook 
hands  over  it. 

"  O  you  beauty !  "  cried  George, 
and  he  went  on  his  knees  and  kissed 
it ;  "  that  is  not  because  you  are  gold, 
l)ut  because  you  take  me  to  Susan. 
Now,  Tom,  let  us  thank  Heaven  for 
its  goodness  to  us,  and  back  to  camp 
this  very  day." 

"  Ay  !  but  stop,  we  mnst  wrap  it  in 
our  wipes  or  we  shall  never  get  back 
alive.  The  very  honest  ones  would 
turn  villains  at  sight  of  it.  It  is  the 
wonder  of  the  world." 

"  I  see  my  Susan's  eyes  in  it,"  cried 
George,  in  rapture.  "  O  Tom,  good, 
kind,  honest  Tom,  shake  hands  over 
it  once  more  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  rapture  a 
horrible  thought  occurred. 

"  Why,  it 's  Jacky's,"  said  George, 
faintly,  "  he  found  it." 

"  Nonsense  !  nonsense  !  "  cried 
Tom,  uneasily ;  he  added,  however, 
"  but  I  am  afraid  one  third  of  it  is,  — 
pals  share,  white  or  black." 

All  tlieir  eyes  now  turned  uneasily 
to  the  Aboriginal,  who  lay  yawning 
on  the  grass. 

"  Ja(  ky  give  him  you,  George," 
said  this  worthy  savage,  with  superb 
indifference.  He  added  with  a  yawn  : 
"  What    for    you    dance    corroboree 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


357 


when  urn  not  dark' — den  you  bite 
yellow  stone,"  coniiniied  this  original, 
"lien  you  red,  den  you  white,  den  you 
red  a;;ain,  all  Ixrausc  we  pull  u[> 
yellow  stone,  —  all  dis  a  good  deal 
daui  liilieulous." 

"  So  't  is,  .Jaeky,"  replied  Robinson, 
hastily;  "ilon'tyou  have  anything'  to 
do  with  yellow  stone,  it  would  make 
you  as  f^reat  a  Ibol  as  we  are.  Now 
show  us  the  shortest  cut  back  home 
thn)U<:h  the  hush." 

At  the  luuive  camp  they  fell  in  with 
Jem.  The  monstrous  nu<::get  was 
too  heavy  to  ct)nceal  from  his  shrewd 
eye,  80  tliey  showed  it  him.  The 
8i;^ht  of  it  almost  knocked  him  down. 
Kobinson  told  him  where  they  found 
it,  and  advised  Jem  to  go  and  look 
for  another.  Alas  !  the  great  nugget 
already  made  him  wish  one  friend 
away.     But  Jem  said  .  — 

"No,  1  will  see  you  safe  through 
the  bush  tirst." 


CHAPTER    LXXI. 

All  this  time  two  persons  in  the 
gold  mine  were  upon  thorns  of  expec- 
tation and  dout)t,  —  brutus  and  Peter 
Crawley.  George  and  Kobinson  did 
not  return,  but  no  more  did  Black 
Will.  What  had  happrned  ?  Had 
the  parties  come  into  collision  ?  and,  if 
so,  with  what  result  ?  If  the  friends 
had  escaped,  why  had  they  never 
been  hoard  of  since  '  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  Will  had  come  off  conqueror, 
why  had  he  never  reappeared  (  At 
hist  brutus  arrived  at  a  f>osiiive  con- 
viction that  Black  Will  had  robbed 
and  probably  murdered  the  men,  and 
was  skulking  somewhere  with  their 
gold,  thereby  defrauding  him  his  pal  ; 
however,  he  kept  this  to  himself,  and 
told  Crawley  that  he  feared  Will  had 
come  to  grief,  so  he  would  go  well 
armed  and  see  what  was  the  matter, 
and  whether  he  could  hel))  him.  So 
he  started  for  the  i)ush,  well  armed. 
Now  his  real  obji-ct,  I  blush  to  say, 
was  to  murder  Black  Will,  and  rob 


t  him  of  the  spoils  of  George  and  Rob- 

I  inson. 

I  Wicked  as  these  men  of  violence 
had  iieen  six  months  ago,  gold  and 
Crawley  had  niaile  them  worx-,  ay, 
much  worse.  Crawky,  indeed,  hud 
never  openly  urged  any  of  them  to  so 
deep  a  crime  as  murder,  and  it  is 
worthy  of  note,  as  a  ])sychoiogical  fact, 
that  this  reptile  contrived  to  deceive 
itself  into  thinking  that  it  had  stopp(  d 
short  of  crime's  utmost  limits;  to  be 
sure  it  had  tempted  and  bribed  and 
urged  men  to  robbery  under  circum- 
stances that  were  almost  sure  to  lead 
to  murder,  but  still  murder  might  not 
01  cur;  meantime  it  had  openly  dis- 
countenanced that  crime,  and  checked 
the  naturarproclivity  of  brutus  and 
Black  Will  towards  deeds  of  blood. 

Selfdeception  will  proinibly  cease 
at  the  first  blast  of  the  anhangers 
trumpet .  but  what  human  heart  will 
part  with  it  till  then  ?  The  circum- 
stances under  which  a  human  being 
could  not  excuse  or  delude  or  justify 
himself  have  never  yet  occurred  in 
the  huge  annals  of  crime.  Prejudice 
apart,  Crawley's  moral  position  be- 
hind brutus  and  Black  Will  seems 
to  bear  a  strong  family  likeness  to 
that  whirh  Holy  Writ  assigns  to  the 
great  enemy  of  num.  That  personage 
knocks  out  nobody's  brains,  cuts  no- 
body's throat,  never  was  guilty  of 
such  brutality  since  the  world  was, 
but  he  finds  some  thorough  egotist, 
and  whispers  how  the  egotism  of  his 
passions  or  his  interest  may  be  grati- 
fied by  the  death  of  a  fellow-creature. 
The  egotist  listens,  and  blood  flows. 

brutus  and  Black  Will  had  both 
suffered  for  their  crimes,  brutus  had 
been  nailed  by  Carlo,  twice  gibbeted, 
and  the  bridge  of  his  nose  broken 
once.  Black  Will  had  been  mutilat- 
ed, and  Walker  nearly  drowned,  but 
"the  close  contriver  of  all  harms" 
had  kept  out  of  harm's  way.  Vio- 
lence h:id  never  recoiled  on  him  who 
set  it  movinLT.  For  all  ihit,  (^rawley, 
I  must  inform  the  reader,  was  not  en- 
tirely prosperous.  He  had  his  little 
troubles,  too,  whether  warnings  that 


358 


"IT   IS   KKVKR   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


he  was  on  the  wrong  path,  or  punish- 
ments of  his  vices,  or  both,  1  can't 
say. 

Thus  it  was.  Mr.  Crawley  had  a 
natural  love  of  spirits,  without  a  stom- 
ach strong  enough  to  deal  with  them. 
Wiicn  he  got  away  from  Mr.  Mead- 
ows he  indulged  more  and  more,  and 
for  some  months  past  he  had  been  sub- 
ject to  an  unpleasant  phenomenon  that 
arises  now  and  then  out  of  the  fumes 
of  li(iui>r.  At  the  festive  board,  even  as 
he  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips,  the  face 
of  Crawley  would  often  be  seen  to 
writhe  with  a  sort  of  horror,  and  his 
eyes  to  become  fixed  on  unseen  ob- 
jects, and  perspiration  to  gather  on 
liis  brow.  Then  such  as  were  not  in 
the  secret  would  jump  up,  and  say, 
"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter?  "  arid 
look  fearfully  round,  expecting  to  see 
some  horrid  sight  to.  justify  tliat  look 
of  horror  and  anguisli ;  but  Crawley, 
his  glassy  eyes  still  fixed,  would 
whimper  out,  his  teeth  chattering, 
and  clipping  the  words  :  "  O,  ne-ne- 
nevcr  minil,  it  's  o-o-only  a  trifling 
ap-parition  !  "  lie  had  got  to  try 
and  make  light  of  it,  because  at  first 
he  used  to  cry  out  and  point,  and  then 
the  miners  ran  out  and  left  him  alone 
witli  his  phantoms,  and  this  was  terri- 
ble. He  dreaded  solitude  ;  he  schemed 
against  it,  and  provided  against  it, 
and  paid  fellows  to  bear  him  company 
night  and  day,  and  at  the  festive 
board  it  was  one  thing  to  drink  his 
phantoms  neat  and  another  to  dilute 
them  wiih  figures  of  flesh  and  blood. 
He  much  preferred  the  latter. 

At  first,  his  supernatural  visitors 
were  of  an  unfavorable  but  not  a 
ghiistly  character. 

No.  1  was  a  judge  who  used  to  rise 
through  the  floor,  and  sit  half  in  and 
half  out  of  the  wall,  with  a  tremendous 
flow  of  horse-hair,  a  furrowed  face,  a 
vertical  cluism  l)etween  the  temples, 
anil  astrike-me-off  the-rolls  eye  gleam- 
ing with  diabolical  fire  from  under  a 
gray  shaggy  eyel)r()W. 

No.  2  was  a  policeman,  who  came 
in  through  the  window,  aiul  stood 
imperturbable,  all  in  blue,  with  a  pair 


of  handcuffs,  and  a  calm  eye,  and  a 
disagreeable  al)sence  of  eff'ort  or  emo- 
tion—  an  inevitable -looking  police- 
man. 

But  as  Crawley  went  deeper  in 
crime  and  brandy,  blood-bohered  fig- 
ures, erect  corpses  with  the  sickening 
signs  of  violence  in  every  conceivable 
form,  used  to  come  and  blast  his  sight 
and  arrest  the  glass  on  its  way  to  his 
lips,  and  make  his  songs  and  the 
boisterous  attempts  at  mirth  of  his 
withered  heart  die  in  a  quaver  and  a 
shiver  of  fear  and  despair.  And  at 
this  period  of  our  tale  these  horrors 
had  made  room  for  a  phantom  more 
horrible  still  to  such  a  creature  as 
Crawley.  The  air  would  seem  to 
thicken  into  sulphureous  smoke,  and 
then  to  clear,  and  then  would  come 
out  clearer  and  clearer,  more  and 
more  awful,  a  black  figure  with  hoof 
and  horns  and  tail,  eyes  like  red-hot 
carbuncles,  teeth  a  chevaur-defrise  of 
white-hot  iron,  and  an  appalling  grin.* 


CHAPTER   LX:^II. 

The  party,  consisting  of  Jacky, 
Jem,  Robinson,  and  George,  had  trav- 
ersed about  one  half  the  bush,  when  a 
great  heavy  crow  came  wheeling  and 
cackling  over  their  heads,  and  then 
joined  a  number  more  who  were  now 
seen  circling  over  a  gum-tree  some 
hundred  yards  distant. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  what  that  is," 
said  Jem. 

Jacky  grinned,  and  led  the  way. 
They  had  not  gone  very  far,  when 
another  great  black  bird  rose  so  near 
their  feet  as  to  make  them  jump,  and 
peering  through  the  bushes  they  saw 
a  man  lying  on  his  back.  His  arm 
was  thrown  in  an  easy,  natural  way 
round  his  <run,  but  at  a  secotul  glance, 
it  was  i»h\in  the  niai.  was  dead.  The 
crows  li  id  ripped  his  clothes  to  rib- 
bons witii  their  tremendous  beaks,  and 

*  The  pod  Pan  colored  black  by  the  early 
Christians. 


IT    IS   NKVKR   TOO   LATK   TO   MKXI). 


359 


lacerated  the  flesh,  and  picked  out  the 
eyes. 

Tliey  stepped  a  few  paces  from  this 
si<i:ht.  There  was  no  sign  of  violence 
on  the  hody. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  s;iid  J(.in.  "  IIow 
did  he  come  hv  his  end,  I  wonder?" 
And  he  stretched  forward  and  peered 
with  pity  and  curiosity  minj^led. 

"  Lost  in  the  hush  !  "  said  Robin- 
son, very  solemnly.  And  he  and 
Georfre  exchanfred  a  meaninjj:  look. 

**  What  is  that  for  (  "  said  Geor<;e, 
anfrrily,  to  Jacky,  —  "  grinning  in 
sight  of  a  dead  body  ?  " 

"  White  fellow  stupid  fellow,"  was 
all  Jacky's  reply. 

The  men  now  stepped  up  to  the 
body  to  examine  it,  not  that  they  had 
much  hope  of  discovering  who  it  was, 
but  still  they  knew  it  was  their  duty 
for  the  sake  of  his  kindred  to  try  and 
find  out. 

George,  overcoming  a  natural  re- 
pugnance, examined  the  pockets.  He 
found  no  papers.  He  found  a  knife, 
but  no  name  was  cut  in  the  handle. 
In  the  man's  bosom  he  found  a  small 
metal  box,  but  just  as  he  was  taking 
it  out  Jem  gave  a  hallo  ! 

"I  think  I  know  him,"  cried  Jem. 
"  There  is  no  mistaking  that  crop  of 
black  hair;  it  is  my  old  captain, 
Black  Will." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  What  could 
he  be  doing  here  without  his  party  1  " 

"Anything  in  the  box,  George?" 
asked  liobinson. 

"  Nothing  but  a  little  money.  Here 
is  a  sovereign —  look.  And  here  is  a 
bank-note." 

"  A  five-pound  note  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  no  ;  it  is  more  than  that 
a  good  deal.  It  is  for  fifty  pounds, 
Tom." 

"What?" 

"  A  fiftv-pound  note,  I  tell  vou." 

"  Jem  !" 

"  Captain  !  " 

A  most  expressive  look  was  ex- 
changed between  these  two,  and  by 
one  impulse  they  both  seized  the  stock 
of  the  gun  that  was  in  the  dead  man's 
hand.     They  lifted  it,  and  yes,  —  two 


fingers  were  wanting  on  the  right 
hand. 

"  Come'  away  from  that  fellow," 
cried  llobinson  to  George.  "  Let  him 
lie." 

George  looked  up  in  some  wonder. 
Robinson  pointed  sternly  to  the  dead 
hand  in  silence.  George  by  the  light 
of  the  other  men's  faces  saw  it  all, 
and  recoiled  witii  a  natural  movement 
of  repugnance  as  from  a  dead  snake. 
There  was  a  breathless  silence  —  and 
every  eye  bent  upon  this  terrible  ene- 
my lying  terrible  no  longer  at  their 
feet. 

"  IIow  did  he  die  ?  "  asked  Robin- 
son, in  a  whisper. 

"  In  the  great  snow-storm,"  replied 
Geoi-fre,  in  a  whisper. 

"  No,"  said  Jem,  in  the  same  tone, 
"  he  was  alive  yesterday.  I  saw  his 
footprint  after  the  snow  was  melted." 

"  There  was  snow  again  last  night, 
Tom.  Perhaps  he  went  to  sleep  in 
that  with  his  belly  empty." 

"  Starvation  and  fatigue  would  do 
it  without  the  snow,  George.  We 
brought  a  day's  provisions  out  with 
us,  George.  He  never  thought  of  that, 
I  will  be  bound." 

"  Not  he,"  said  Jem.  "  I  '11  answer 
for  him  he  only  thought  of  robbing 
and  killing,  —  never  thought  about 
dying  himself." 

'' 1  can't  believe  he  is  dead  so  easy 
as  this,"  said  Robinson. 

The  feeling  was  natural.  This  man 
had  come  into  the  wood  and  had 
followed  them  burning  to  work  them 
ill,  and  they  to  work  him  ill.  Both 
were  utterly  baffled.  He  had  never 
prevailed  to  hurt  them,  nor  tliey  him. 
He  was  dead,  but  by  no  mortal  hand. 
The  immediate  cause  of  his  death 
was  unknown,  and  will  never  be  known 
for  certain  while  the  world  lasts. 

L'homtne  propose,  niais  Dicu  dispose  1 


CHAPTER  LXXIIL 

Don't  keep  staring  at  it  so,  farmer, 
it  is  an  ugly  sight.     You  will  sec  him 


3G0 


IT  IS  NEVKR   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


in  your  sloop  if  you  do  that.  Here  is 
somctliin^'  better  to  look  at,  —  ii  letter. 
And  tiiere  1  carried  it  and  la-ver  once 
tlioui,']it  of  it  till  tile  bi<4lit  of  liis  hand 
male  ine  feci  in  my  pocket,  and  then 
my  hind  ran  against  it.  'Tis  from 
Mr.  Levi." 

"  Thank  you,  Jem.  Tom,  will  you 
be  so  kind  as  read  it  me  while  I 
work  ? " 

"  Yes,  give  it  me.  Work  ?  Why, 
what  are  we  goin<^  to  work  at  in  the 
bush  ? " 

"  I  should  think  you  might  guess," 
replied  George,  quietly,  while  putting 
down  his  pickaxe  and  taking  otf  his 
coat.  "  Well,  I  am  astonished  at  both 
of  you.  You  ought  to  know  what  I 
am  going  to  do.  Humph !  Under 
this  tree  will  be  as  good  a  place  as 
any." 

**  Jem,  as  I  am  a  sinner,  he  is  going 
to  bury  him." 

"  Bury  what  ?     The  nugget  ?  " 

"  No,  Jem,  the  Christian."* 

"  A  pretty  Christian,"  sneered  Rob- 
inson. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Tom  1  " 

"  I  know  it  is  not  very  kind  of  you 
to  take  all  this  trouble  to  bury  my 
enemy,"  said  Hohinson,  hurt. 

"  lion'tye  say  that,"  replied  George, 
hurt  in  his  turn.  "  He  was  as  much 
my  enemy  as  yours." 

"  No  such  thing.  He  was  here  af- 
ter me,  and  has  been  tormenting  me 
this  twelve  months.  You  have  no 
enemy,  a  great  soft  spoon  like  you." 

"  Keep  your  temper,  Tom,"  an- 
swered George,  in  a  mollifying  tone. 
**  Let  each  man  act  according  to  his 
lights.  I  could  n't  leave  a  corpse  to 
the  fowls  of  the  air." 

"  Gibbet  a  murderer,  I  say,  —  don't 
bury  him  ;  especially  when  he  has  just 
been  hunting  our  very  lives." 

"  Tom,"  replied  Geortre,  doggedly, 
"  death  settles  all  accounts.  I  liked 
thj  man  as  little  as  you  could  ;  and  it 
is  not  to  say  I  am  in  love  with  a  man 
because  I  sprinkle  a  little  earth  over 
,his  djad  bones.     Ugh!     This  is  the 

*  In  Berkshire  ;imong  a  certain  class  this 
wurd  meaub  ^'  a  humau  being." 


unkindest  soil  to  work.  It  is  full  of 
roots,  enough  to  break  a  fellow's 
heart." 

While  George  was  picking  and 
gruljbing  out  ruuts,  and  tigluing  with 
the  (iitiicult  soil,  liubinson  opened 
Levi's  letter  viciously,  and  read  out :  — 

"  George  Fielding,  you  have  an  ene- 
my in  the  mine,  —  at«ecret,  cowardly, 
unscrupulous  enemy,  who  lies  in  wait 
for  your  return.  I  have  seen  his 
face,  and  tremble  for  you.  Therefore 
listen  to  my  words.  The  old  Jew 
whom  twice  you  have  saved  from 
harm  and  insult  is  rich,  his  children 
are  dead,  the  wife  of  his  bosc^n  is  dead. 
He  loves  no  creature  now  but  you 
and  Susannah  ;  therefore  run  no  more 
risks  for  gold,  since  much  gcjld  awaits 
you  without  lisk.  Come  home.  Re- 
spect the  words  of  age  and  experi- 
ence, —  come  home.  Delay  not  an 
hour.  0,  say  not,  '  I  will  sleep  yet 
one  more  night  in  my  tent,  and  then 
I  will  depart,'  but  ride  speedily  after 
me  on  the  very  instant.  Two  horses 
have  1  purchased  for  you  and  the 
young  man  your  friend,  —  two  swift 
horses  with  their  saddles.  The 
voucher  is  enclosed.  Ride  speedily 
after  me  this  very  hour.  Test  evil  befall 
you  and  yet  more  sorrow  foil  upon 
Susannah  and  upon  —  Isaac  Levi." 

The  reading  of  this  letter  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  tlioughtful  silence  broken 
only  by  the  sound  of  George's  pick- 
axe and  the  bursting  roots. 

"  This  is  a  very  extraordinary  let- 
ter. Mr.  Levi  knows  more  than  he 
tells  you,  George." 

"  I  am  of  your  opinion." 

"  Why,  captain,"  said  Jem,  "  to  go 
by  that  letter.  Fielding  is  the  marked 
man,  and  not  you  after  all.  So  it  is 
his  owii  enemy  he  is  digging  that 
grave  for." 

**  Do  you  think  you  will  stop  him 
by  saying  that  ?  "  asked  Robinson, 
with  a  shrug. 

"  He  was  my  enemy,  Tom,  and 
your's  too  ;  but  now  he  is  nohody's 
enemy  ;  he  is  dead.  AVill  you  help 
me  lav  him  in  the  earth,  or  shall  I  do 
it  by  myself?" 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


3G1 


"  Wc  will  help,"  said  the  others,  a 
liitif  suJ.i.ly. 

'i'la-y  l)iou;^Mit  the  hody  to  its  grave 
luidir  tiie  tall  guiu-troe'. 

"  Not  c[iiitc  so  ruugh,  Tom,  if  you 

'•  I  (lid  n't  mean  to  be  rougli  that  I 
know  of,  —  tiierc." 

'1  lit-y  laid  tlie  dead  villain  gently 
and  reverently  in  his  grave.  George 
took  a  handful  of  soil  anil  scattered 
it  over  him. 

"  Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,"  said 
he,  solemnly. 

The  other  two  looked  down  and 
sprinkled  sf)il  too,  and  ihtir  anger  and 
bitterness  began  to  soften  by  ihc  side 
of  (ieorge  anil  over  tlie  u^rave. 

Then  Jem  felt  in  his  pocket  and 
produced  something  wrapped  in  silver- 
paper. 

•'  T''liis  belongs  !  "  said  he,  with  a 
li()riii)le  simplicity.  "  The  farmer  is 
too  good  for  this  world,  but  it  is  a 
good  fault.  There,  farmer,"  said  he, 
looking  to  George  for  approbation  as 
he  ih-op])ed  the  little  parcel  into  tiic 
gnive.  *'  After  all,"  continued  Jem, 
good-naturedly,  "it  would  have  been 
very  hard  upon  a  poor  fellow  to  wake 
up  in  the  next  world  and  not  have 
what  does  belong  to  him  to  make  an 
honest  living  with." 

The  grave  \vas  filled  in,  and  a  little 
mound  made  at  the  foot  of  the  tree. 
Then  George  took  out  his  knife  and 
began  to  cut  the  smooth  bark. 

"  What  now?  O,  I  see.  That  is 
a  good  idea,  George.  Read  them  a 
lesson.  Say  in  a  few  words  how  he 
came  here  to  do  a  deed  of  violence 
and  died  himself,  —  by  the  hand  of 
Heaven." 

"  Tom."  replied  George,  cutting 
away  at  the  bark,  "  he  is  gone  where 
he  is  sure  to  be  judged  ;  so  we  have 
no  call  to  judire  him.  God  Almighty 
can  do  i\\\\i,  I  do  suppose,  without  us 
puttinir  in  our  word." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  I 
never  snw  the  toad  so  obstinate  before, 
Jem.    What  is  he  cutting,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  inscription,  when  finished,  i-an 
thus : — 

16 


"  Please   nns'T   cit   dowm   this   trki. 

"  Ir    IS    A     lOMBsruNK. 
"  A    WHITt    MA.S    LIES    BKLOW."  ^ 

"  Now,  Tom,  Un-  England." 

They  set  out  again  with  alacrity, 
and  battled  with  the  bush  about  two 
hours  more.  George  and  Kobinson 
carried  the  great  nugger  on  a  hand- 
kerchief, stretched  double  across  two 
sticks,  Jem  carried  the  picks.  They 
were  all  in  high  spirits,  and  made 
light  of  scratches  and  difficulties.  At 
last,  somewhat  suddenly,  they  burst 
out  of  the  thick  part  into  the  mere 
outskirts  frequented  by  the  miners, 
and  there  they  came  plump  upon  bru- 
tus,  with  a  gun  in  his  hand  and  pis- 
tols peeping  out  of  his  pockets,  come 
to  murder  Black  Will  and  rob  him 
of  his  spoils. 

They  were  startled,  and  brutus  as- 
tounded, for  he  was  fully  persuaded 
George  and  Kobinson  had  ceased  to 
exist.  He  was  so  dumfoundered  that 
Robinson  walked  up  to  him  and  took 
the  gun  out  of  his  hands  without  any 
resistance  on  his  part.  The  others 
came  round  him,  and  Robinson  de- 
manded his  pistols. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  he. 

Now  at  this  very  moment  his  eye 
fell  upon  that  fabulous  mass  of  gold 
they  carried,  and  both  his  eyes  opened, 
and  a  sort  of  shiver  passed  over  him. 
With  ready  cunning  he  looked  an- 
other way,  but  it  was  too  late.  Rob- 
inson had  caught  that  furtive  glance, 
and  a  chill  came  over  him  that  this 
villain  should  have  seen  the  prize,  a 
thing  to  excite  cupidity  to  frenzy. 
Nothing  now  would  have  induced 
Rol)inson  to  leave  him  armed. 

He  replied,  sternly:  "Because  wc 
are  four  to  one,  and  we  will  hang  you 
on  the  nearest  tree  if  you  don't  give 
them  up.  And,  now,  what  are  you 
doing  here?  " 

"  I  was  only  looking  for  my  pal," 
said  brutus. 

"  Well,  you  won't  want  a  gun  and 
pistols  to  look  for  your  pal.     Which 


wav  are  vou 


roing 


"  Into  the  bush." 

"  Then  mizzle  !    That  is  the  road." 


3G2 


IT   IS   NEVEli   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


brutus  moved  gloomily  away  into 
the  bush. 

"There,"  said  Kobinson,  "he  has 
turned  bubhraiitrer.  I  've  disarmed 
lum,and  saved  some  ])Oor  fellow's  lite 
and  property.  Cover  up  the  iiiio;j,^et, 
Georj^e." 

They  went  on,  but  presently  Rob- 
inson had  a  thought. 

"  Jacky,"  said  he,  "  you  s.  w  that 
man  ;  should  you  know  him  a^ain  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Jacky,  that  man  is  our  enemy. 
Could  you  track  him  by  his  footsteps 
without  ever  letting  him  see  you  1  " 

Jacky  smiled  superior. 

"  Then  follow  him  and  see  where 
he  goes,  and  whom  he  joins,  —  and 
come  to  the  mine  directly  and  tell 
me." 

Jacky's  eyes  gleamed  at  this  intelli- 
gence. '  He  sat  down,  and  in  a  few 
turns  of  the  hand  painted  Ids  face  war, 
and  glided  like  a  serpent  on  brutus's 
trail. 

The  rest  cleared  the  wood,  and 
brouglit  the  nugget  safe  hidden  in 
their  pocket-handkerchief  to  camp. 
They  begged  Jem  to  accept  the  fifty 
pounds,  if  he  did  not  mind  handling 
the  price  of  blood. 

Jem  assured  tliem  he  had  no  such 
scruples,  and  took  it  with  a  burst  of 
thiuiks. 

Then  they  made  him  promise  faith- 
fully not  to  mention  to  a  soul  about 
the  monster  nugget.  No  more  he  did 
while  he  was  sober,  but,  alas  !  some 
hours  later,  having  a  drop  in  liis  head, 
he  betrayed  the  secret  to  one  or  two, 
—  say  forty. 

Robinsoii  pitched  their  tent  and 
mounted  guard  over  the  nugget. 
George  was  observed  to  l)c  in  a 
strange  flutter,  lie  ran  hither  and 
thither.  Ran  to  the  post-office,  —  ran 
TO  the  stationer,  —  got  ]iaper,  — drew 
np  a  paper,  —  found  M'Laughlan, — 
made  him  sign  it,  —  went  to  Mr. 
Moore,  —  showed  him  I«;aac's  vouch- 
er :  on  which  Moore  produced  the 
horses,  a  large  black  horse  with  boih 
bone  and  blood,  and  a  good  cob. 

George   was    very    much    pleased 


with  them,  and  asked  what  Levi  had 
given  for  them. 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for 
the  pair." 

"  Good  Heavens,"  cried  George, 
"  what  a  price  !  Mr.  Levi  was  in  ear- 
nest." Then  he  ran  out  and  went  to 
the  tent  and  gave  Robinson  his  let- 
ters. "  But  there  were  none  for  me, 
Tom,"  sighed  George.  "  Never  mind, 
I  shall  soon  —  " 

Now  these  letters  brought  joy  and 
triumph  to  Robinson  ;  one  contained 
a  free  pardon,  the  other  was  a  polite 
missive  from  the  Colonial  Govern- 
ment, in  answer  to  the  miners'  petition 
he  had  sent  up. 

"  Secretary  had  the  honor  to  inform 
Mr.  Robinson  that  police  were  on  the 
road  to  the  mine,  and  that  soldiers 
would  arrive  by  to-morrow  to  form 
an  escort,  so  that  the  miners'  gold 
might  ti'avel  in  safety  down  to  Syd- 
ney." 

"  Hurrah  !  this  is  good  news,"  cried 
Robinson,  "  and  what  a  compliment 
to  me.  Do  you  hear,  George  ?  an  es- 
cort of  soldiers  coming  to  the  camp 
to-morrow  ;  they  will  take  the  nugget 
safe  to  Sydney." 

"Not  if  we  are  robbed  of  it  to- 
night," replied  George. 

At  this  moment  in  came  Jacky  with 
news  of  brutus:  that  wily  man  had 
gone  l)ut  a  little  way  in  the  bush  when 
he  had  made  a  circuit,  and  had  slipped 
back  into  another  part  of  the  mine, 
and  Jacky  had  followed  him  first  by 
trail,  afterwards  by  sight,  "and  had 
marked  him  down  into  a  certain  tent, 
on  which  he  had  straightway  put  a  lit- 
tle red  mark. 

"  Come  back  after  our  nugget, 
Geor^^e.  Fools  we  were  to  carry  it 
blazing  in  folks'  eyes." 

"  I  dare  say  we  can  beat  him." 

"  I  am  game  to  try.  Jacky,  I  want 
to  put  a  question  to  you." 

While  Jacky  and  T'om  were  confer- 
ring in  animated  whi-pers,  George  was 
fi.\ing  an  old  spur  he  had  picked  up 
into  the  heel  of  his  boot. 

"  That  is  capital,  Jacky.  Well, 
George,  we  have  hit  upon  a  plan." 


•IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


1G3 


"  And  so  have  I." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yi!i !  mc!  l)Ut  tell  nie  vours  first, 
Tom." 

Kobinson  tk'taik'd  him  his  sclieme 
with  all  its  raniitications,  and  a  very 
in;reiiious  stratajua-m  it  was. 

For  all  that,  when  Georjre  pro- 
pounded his  plan  in  less  than  six 
word<,  Kobinson  stared  with  surprise 
and  tlien  gave  way  to  ludicrous  ad- 
miration. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  simplicity  be- 
fore cunninf: ;  look  at  that  now. 
Where  was  my  head  ?  —  George,  this 
is  your  day,  —  carried  iiem.  con." 

"  And,  Tom,  you  can  do  yours  all 
the  same." 

"  Can  I  ?  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure  I 
can.  There,  he  saw  tlint  too  before. 
Wliv,  George,  if  von  don't  mind,  you 
wilf  be  No.  1  and  I  No.  2.  Wliat 
makes  you  so  sharp  all  of  a  sud- 
den ?  " 

"  I  have  to  think  for  Susan  as  well 
asus,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  tenderly, 
"  that  is  why  lam  sharp,  —  for  once 
in  a  way.  And  now,  Jacky,  —  you 
are  ti  great  anxiety  to  me,  and  the 
time  is  so  short,  —  come  sit  by  me, 
dear  Jacky,  and  let  me  try  and  make 
you  understand  what  I  have  been  do- 
ing for  you,  that  you  may  be  good 
and  happy,  and  comfortable  in  your 
old  :ig<',  when  your  poor  old  limbs 
turn  stiff,  and  you  can  hunt  no  long- 
er. In  grateful  return  for  the  nugget, 
and  more  than  that  for  all  your  good- 
ness and  kindness  to  me  in  times  of 
bitter  trouble." 

Then  George  showed  Jacky  how 
he  had  given  Abner  one  third  of  all 
his  sheep  and  cattle,  and  Jacky  two 
thirds,  and  how  M'Laughlan,  a  just 
mm,  would  see  the  division  made  : 
"  ^\nd  <lo  leave  the  wood>,  except  for 
a  bunt  now  iind  then,  Jacky,  you  are 
too  ^ood  for  them." 

Above  all,  George  explained  with 
homely  earnestness  tlie  nature  of  the 
sheep,  her  time  of  lambinir,  etc.,  and 
showed  Jacky  how  the  sheep  and  cat- 
tle would  always  keep  him  fed  and 
clothed,   if  he   would    but   use   them 


reasonably,  and  not  kill  the  breeders 
for  dinner. 

And  Jacky  listened  with  glistening 
eyes,  for  George's  glistened,  and  the 
sweet  tones  of  ailectioii  aiid  gratitu<lo 
pierced  through  this  family  talk,  and 
it  is  sad  that  we  must  drop  the  cur- 
tain on  this  green  spot  in  the  great 
camp  and  go  among  our  villains. 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

Robinson  did  not  overrate  the 
fatal  power  of  the  fabulous  mass  of 
gold,  a  glimpse  of  whi<h  he  had  in- 
cautiously given  to  greedy  eyes.  It 
drew  brutus  like  a  magnet  after  it. 
He  came  all  in  a  tlutter  to  mejihis- 
topheles,  and  told  him  he  had  met  the 
tAvo  men  carrying  a  lump  of  solid 
gold  between  them  so  heavy  that  the 
sticks  bent  under  it ;  "  The  sweat  ran 
down  me  at  the  sijiht  of  it,  but  I  man- 
aged  to  look  another  way  directly." 

What  with  the  blows  and  kicks  and 
bruises  and  defeats  he  had  received, 
and  Avith  the  gold  mass  his  lawless 
eye  had  rested  on,  brutus  was  now 
in  a  state  of  mind  terrible  to  think 
of 

Lust  and  hate,  terrible  twins,  stung 
that  dark  heart  to  frenzy.  Could  he 
have  had  his  will  he  would  have  dis- 
pensed with  cunning,  would  have  gone 
out  and  fired  bullets  from  his  gun 
into  the  tent,  and,  if  his  enemies  came 
out  alive,  have  met  them  hand  to 
hand  to  slay  or  l)e  slain.  But  the 
watchful  foe  had  disarmed  him,  and 
he  was  compelled  to  listen  to  the 
more  reynard-like  ferocity  of  his  ac- 
complice. 

"  Bill,"  said  the  assassin  of  Carlo,_ 
"keep  cool,  and  you  shall  have  the 
swag ;  and  yet  not  lose  your  rcvcngo 
neither." 

" vou,  tell  me  how." 

"  Let  the  bottle  alone  then  ;  you 
are  hot  enouirh  wit'^out  that.  Come 
nearer  me.  What  I  ''ave  got  to  say 
is  not  the  sort  nf  thing  for  me  to 
bawl  about :  we  should  not  be  alive 


364- 


"IT   IS  NEVER  TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


half  an  hour  if  it  was  heard  to  come 
from  our  lips." 

The  two  heads  came  dose  together, 
and  Crawley  leaned  over  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  and  listened  with 
senses  keen  as  a  razor. 

"  Su])pose  I  show  you  how  to  make 
those  two  run  out  of  their  tent  like 
two  fri<ihtened  women,  and  never  once 
think  aliout  their  swag  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! " 

"And  fall  blinded  for  life  or  dead 
or  dying  while  we  walk  off  with  the 
swag." 

"  Blind,  dead,  dying !  give  me  your 
hand.     How  ?  how  ?  how  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  don't  shout  like  that  ; 
come  closer,  and  you,  Smith." 

Then  a  diabolical  scheme  hissed 
into  the  listeners'  ears,  —  a  scheme 
at  once  cowardly  and  savage,  —  a 
scheme  of  that  terrible  kind  that  robs 
coui-age,  strength,  and  even  skill  of 
their  natural  advantages,  and  reduces 
tlieir  owners  to  the  level  of  the  weak 
and  the  timid,  —  a  scheme  worthy  of 
the  assassin  of  Carlo,  and  the  name  I 
have  given  this  wretch,  whose  brain 
was  so  fertile  and  his  heart  so  fiend- 
ish. Its  effect  on  the  hearers  was 
great,  but  A'ery  different.  Crawley  re- 
coiled, not  violently,  but  like  a  serpent 
on  wliich  water  had  been  poured; 
but  brutus  broke  into  a  rapture  of 
admiration,  exultation,  gratified  hate. 

*'  Bless  you,  bless  you  !  "  cried  he, 
with  a  violence  more  horrible  than 
his  curses,  "  you  warm  my  heart,  you 
are  a  pal.     What   a  head-piece   you 

have  got !     you  Smith,  have  you 

notliing  to  say  1 "  Is  n't  this  a  dodge 
out  of  the  common  ?  " 

Now  for  the  last  minute  or  two 
Crawley's  eyes  had  been  fixed  with  a 
haggard  expression  on  a  distant  cor- 
ner of  the  room.  He  did  not  move 
thcui :  he  appeared  hardly  to  have  the 
power,  but  he  answered,  dropping  the 
words  do\Yn  on  the  table  anywhere. 

"Ye — yes>.  it  is  very  inge-nious, 
ah ! " 

Mcphisto.  "  We  must  buy  the  tur- 
pentine directly  ;  there  is  only  one 
store  sells  it,  and  that  shuts  at  nine." 


Brutus.  "  Do  you  hear,  Smith  ? 
hand  us  out  the  blunt." 

Crawley.  "  O,  ugh  !  "  and  his  eyes 
seemed  fascinated  to  that  spot. 

Brutus  (following  Crawley's  eye 
uneasily).     "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Crawler).  "  Lo-o-o-k  th-e-r-e  !  No  ! 
on  your  right.  0,  his  tail  is  in  the 
fire !  "      • 

Brutus.  "  Whose  tail  ?  don't  be  a 
fool !  " 

Crawley.  "  And  it  does  n't  bum  !  ! 
O,  it  burns  blacker  in  the  fire !  — 
Ah,  ah  !  now  the  eyes  have  caught 
fire,  —  diamonds  full  of  hell.  They 
blast !  Ah,  now  the  teeth  have  caught 
light,  —  red-hot  nails.  The  mouth  is 
as  big  as  the  table,  gaping  wider, 
wider,  wider.     Ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  " 

Brutus.  " him  ;  I  won't  stay  in 

the  room  with  such  a  fellow,  he  makes 
my  blood  run  cold.  Has  he  cut  his 
father's  throat  in  a  church,  or  what?  " 

Crawley  (shrieking).  "  O,  don't 
go  ;  O  my  dear  friends,  don't  leave 
me  alone  with  it.  My  dear  friends, 
you  sit  down  right  upon  it,  —  that 
sends  it  away."  And  Crawley  hid 
his  face,  and  pointed  wildly  to  where- 
abouts they  were  to  sit  upon  the 
phantom. 

Brutus.  "  Come,  it  is  gone  now ; 
was  forced  nearly  to  squash  it  first 
though,  haw  !  haw !  haw  !  " 

Crawley.  "  Yes,  it  is  gone.  Thank 
Heaven,  —  I  '11  give  up  drinking." 

Brutus.  "  So  now  fork  out  the  blunt 
for  the  turps." 

Crawley.  "  No !  I  will  give  no 
money  towards  murder,  —  robbery  is 
bad  enough.  Where  shall  Ave  all  go 
to  ? "  And  he  rose  and  went  out, 
muttering  something  about  "  a  little 
brandy." 

Brutus.  "  The  sneak,  —  to  fail  us 
at  the  pinch,  I  '11  wring  his  neck 
round.     What  is  this  1  five  pounds." 

Mephisto.  "Don't  you  see  the 
move  ?  he  won't  give  it  us,  conscience 
forbids,  but,  if  we  are  such  rogues  as 
take  it,  no  questions  asked." 

"  The  tarnation  hypocrite,"  roared 
brutus,  with  disgust,  —  hypocrisy  was 
the  one  vice  he  was  innocent  of — out 


T   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEN'D. 


365 


of  jail,  mcphistopliclcs  stole  Craw- 
Jey's  momy,  left  tor  that  purpose,  and 
went  and  bought  a  Ibur-gallou  cask  of 
turpentine. 

brutus  remained  and  sharpened  an 
old  cutlass,  the  only  weapon  lie  had 
got  left.  Crawley  and  niephistoplicles 
returned  almost  together.  Crawley 
produced  a  bottle  of  brandy. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  niephistopheles, 
"  I  don't  dispute  your  ingenuity,  my 
friend,  but  suppose  while  we  have 
been  talking  the  men  have  struck  their 
tent,  and  gone  away  nugget  and 
all  f  " 

The  pair  looked  terribly  blank,  — 
wliat  fools  we  were  not  to  think  of  that. 

Crawley  kept  them  in  pain  a  mo- 
ment or  two. 

"  Well,  they  have  not,"  said  he,  "  I 
have  been  to  look." 

"  Well  done,"  cried  mephistophe- 
les. 

"  Well  done,"  cried  brutus,  j?:asp- 
ing  for  breath. 

"  There  is  their  tent  all  right." 

"  How  near  did  you  go  to  it  ?  " 

"  Near  enough  to  hear  their  voices 
muttering." 

"  When  does  the  moon  rise  to- 
night?" 

"  She  is  rising  now." 

"  When  does  she  go  down  ?  " 

*'  Soon  after  two  o'clock." 

"  Will  you  take  a  share  of  the  work, 
Smith  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

It  was  a  gusty  night.  The  moon 
had  gone  down.  The  tents  gleamed 
indistinct  in  form,  but  white  as  snow. 
Kobinson's  tent  stood  a  little  apart, 
among  a  number  of  deserted  claims, 
some  of  them  dry,  but  most  of  them 
with  three  or  four  feet  of  water  in 
them. 

There  was,  however,  one  large  tent 
about  twenty  yards  from  Kol)inson's. 

A  man  crept  on  his  stomach  up  to 
this  tent  and  listened  :  he  then  joined 


another  man  who  stood  at  some  dis- 
tance, and  whose  form  seemed  gigan- 
tic in  the  dim  starlight.  "  All  right," 
said  the  spy,  "  tliey  are  all  fast  as  dor- 
mice,  snoring  like  hogs  :  no  fear  from 
them." 

"  Go  to  work,  tlien,"  whispered  bru- 
tus.    "  Do  your  part." 

mephistoplieles  laid  a  deep  iron  dish 
upon  the  ground,  and  removed  the 
bung  from  the  turpentine  cask,  and 
poured.  "  Confound  the  wind,  how 
it  wastes  the  stuff,"  cried  he. 

He  now  walked  on  tiptoe  past  Rob- 
inson's tent,  and  scattered  the  turpen- 
tine with  a  bold  sweep,  so  that  it  fell 
light  as  rain  over  a  considerable  sur- 
face. A  moment  of  anxiety  succeed- 
ed, would  their  keen  antagonists  hear 
even  that  slight  noise  1  No  !  no  one 
stirred  in  the  tent. 

mephistopheles  returned  to  the  cask, 
and  emboldened  by  success  brought  it; 
nearer  the  doomed  tent.  Six  times 
he  walked  past  the  windward  side  of 
the  tent,  and  scattered  the  turpentine 
over  it.  It  was  at  the  other  side  his 
difficulties  began. 

The  first  time  he  launched  the 
liquid,  the  wind  took  it  and  returned 
it  nearly  all  in  his  face,  and  over  his 
clothes.  Scarce  a  drop  reached  the 
tent. 

The  next  time  he  went  up  closer 
with  a  beating  heart,  and  flung  it 
sharper.  This  time  full  two  thirds 
went  upon  the  tent,  and  only  a  small 
quantity  came  back  like  spray.  By 
the  time  the  cask  was  emptied,  the 
tent  was  saturated.  Then  this  wretch 
passed  the  tent  yet  once  more,  and 
scattered  a  small  quantity  of  oil  to 
make  the  flame  more  durable  and 
deadly. 

"  Now  it  is  my  turn,"  whispered 
brutus.  "  I  thought  it  would  never 
come." 

What  is  that  figure  crouching  and 
crawTmg  about  a  hundred  yards  to 
windward  '(  It  is  the  caitiff  Crawley, 
who,  after  peremptorily  declining  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  this  hellish 
act,  has  crept  fiirtively  after  them, 
partly  to  play  the  spy  on  them,  for 


366 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.' 


he  suspects  they  will  lie  to  him  ahout 
the  fi;old,  purtly  urj^ed  by  curiosity. 
He  could  see  nothinj;  at  that  distance 
but  the  dark  body  of  incpliistopheles 
passin<^  at  intervals  bctweeu  him  and 
the  white  tent. 

He  shivered  with  cold  and  terror  at 
the  crime  about  to  be  done,  and  quiv- 
ered with  impatience  that  it  was  so 
lonj;  a  doing. 

The  assassins  now  divided  their 
force,  mephistopheles  took  his  sta- 
tion to  leeward  of  the  tent ;  brutus  to 
windward. 

Crawley  saw  a  sudden  spark  upon 
the  ground,  it  was  brutus  striking  a 
lucifer  match  against  his  heel.  With 
this,Jie  lighted  a  piece  of  tow,  and 
runrah^  along  the  tent  he  left  a  line 
of  fire^ehind  him,  and  awaited  the 
result,  ms  cutlass  griped  in  his  hand 
and  hisweetli  clenched. 

Crawley  saw  that  line  of  fire  come 
and  then  creep  and  then  rise  and  then 
roar,  and  shoot  up  into  a  great  column 
of  fire,  thirty  feet  high,  roaring  and 
blazing,  and  turning  night  into  day  all 
round.  Simultaneously  with  this  tre- 
mendous burst  of  fire  and  light,  which 
startled  Crawley  by  bringing  him  in  a 
moment  into  broad  daylight,  he  saw 
rise  from  the  earth  a  black  figure  with 
a  fiendish  foce. 

At  this  awful  sight  the  conscience- 
stricken  wretch  fell  flat  and  tried  to 
work  into  the  soil  like  a  worm.  Nor 
did  he  recover  any  portion  of  his  pres- 
ence of  mind  till  he  heard  a  shrill 
whoop,  savage  and  soul-chilling,  but 
mortal,  and,  looking  up,  saw  Kalin- 
galunga  go  bounding  down  upon  bru- 
tus with  gigantic  leaps,  his  tomahawk 
whirling. 

Crawley  cowered  like  a  hare,  and 
i^'^atched.  brutus,  surprised  but  not 
dismayed,  wheeled  round  and  faced 
the  savage,  cutlass  in  hand.  He  par- 
ried a  fierce  blow  of  the  tomahawk, 
and  with  his  left  fist  struck  K'flinga- 
lunga  on  tlie  temple,  and  knocked 
him  backwards  half  a  dozen  yards. 
The  elastic  savage  recovered  himself, 
and  danced  like  a  fiend  round  brutus 
in  the  red  light  of  the  blazing  tent 


"Warned  by  that  strange  blow 
straight  from  the  armpit,  a  blow  en- 
tirely new  to  him,  he  came  on  with 
more  deadly  caution,  eyes  and  teeth 
bude-lights,  and  brutus  felt  a  chill  for 
a  moment,  but  it  speedily  turned  to 
rage.  Now  as  the  combatants  each 
prepared  to  strike  again,  screams 
suddenly  issued  from  the  other  side 
the  tent,  so  wild,  despairing,  and  un- 
natural, as  to  suspend  their  arms  for 
a  moment.  They  heard  but  saw  noth- 
ing, only  the  savage  heart  of  brutus 
found  time  to  exult,  —  his  enemies 
were  perishing.  But  Crawley  saw  as 
well  as  hoard.  A  pillar  of  flame  eight 
feet  high  burst  out  from  behind  the 
tent,  and  rang  along  the  ground. 
From  that  conical  flame  issued  those 
appalling  shrieks,  —  it  was  a  man  on 
fire.  The  living  flame  ran  but  a  few 
steps,  then  disappeared  from  the  earth, 
and  the  screams  ceased.  Apparent- 
ly the  fire  had  not  only  killed,  but  an- 
nihilated its  prey  and  so  itself  Craw- 
ley sickened  with  horror,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment with  remorse. 

But  already  brutus  and  Kalingalun- 
ga  were  fighting  again  by  the  light 
of  the  burning  tent.  They  closed, 
and  this  time  blood  flowe'd  on  both 
sides  :  the  savage,  by  a  skilful  feint, 
cut  brutus  on  the  flesh  of  the  left 
shoulder,  but  not  deep,  and  brutus 
once  more  surprised  the  savage  by 
delivering  point  with  his  cutlass,  and 
inflicted  a  severe  graze  on  the  ribs. 

At  the  sight  of  his  enemy's  blood, 
brutus  followed  up  and  aimed  a  fierce 
blow  at  Kalin<:alunga's  head ;  he 
could  not  have  made  a  more  useless 
attack.  The  savage  bore  on  his  left 
arm  a  shield,  so  called ;  it  was  but 
three  inches  broad  and  two  feet  long, 
but  skill  and  practice  had  made  it  an 
impenetrable  defence.  He  received 
the  cutlass  on  this  shield  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  and  simultaneously  de- 
livered his  tomahawk  on  brutus's 
unguarded  head.  l)rutus  went  down 
under  the  blow  and  rolled  over  on  his 
face. 

The  crouching  spectator  of  this 
terrible  combat  by  the  decaying  light 


IT  IS  XKVKU  TOO  LATE  TO  MLND. 


3G7 


of  the  tent  hciml  the  hard  blow  and 
saw  the  white  man  roll  upon  the 
{ground.  Tlu-n  he  saw  the  tomahawk 
twice  lifted  and  twice  descend  ujion 
the  man's  hack  as  he  lay.  'i'iie  next 
moment  the  sava<iO  eamc  runninc^ 
from  the  tent  at  liis  utmost  speed. 

Crawley's  lirst  thou-iit  was  that  as- 
sistanee  had  eome  to  hrutus  ;  his  next 
was  a  terrible  one.  The  savaj^e  had 
first  risen  from  the  earth  at  a  spot  be- 
tween the  tent  and  him.  Perhaps  he 
had  been  watching  both  Iiim  and  the 
tent.  A  moment  of  horrible  uncertain- 
ty, and  then  Crawley  yielded  to  his  in- 
stinct and  ran.  A  terrible  whoop  behind 
told  him  he  was  indeed  to  be  the  next 
victim.  He  ran  for  the  dear  life  ;  no 
one  would  have  believed  he  could 
shamble  aloni:  at  the  rate  he  did.  His 
tent  was  half  a  mile  off  ;  he  would  be 
a  dead  man  long  ere  he  could  reach 
it.  He  turned  his  yellitig  head  as  he 
ran,  to  see.  The  tieet  savage  had  al- 
ready diminished  the  distance  between 
tliem  by  half.  Crawley  now  filled  the 
air  with  despairing  cries  for  help.  A 
large  tent  was  before  him  ;  he  knew 
not  whose,  but  certain  death  was  be- 
hind him.  He  made  for  the  tent.  If 
ho  could  but  reach  it  before  the  death- 
stroke  was  given  him !  Yes,  it  is 
near !  No,  it  is  white  and  looks  closer 
than  it  is.  A  whoop  soun'led  in  his 
ears ;  it  seemed  to  ring  inside  his 
head  it  was  so  near.  He  flung  liim- 
self  yelling  with  terror  at  the  wall  of 
the  tent.  An  aperture  gave  way.  A 
sharp  cut  as  with  a  whip  seemed  to 
sting  him,  and  he  was  on  his  knees  in 
the  middle  of  the  tent  howling  for 
mercy,  first  to  the  savage,  who  he 
made  sure  was  standing  over  him 
with  his  tomahawk  ;  then  to  a  man 
who  got  him  by  the  throat  and 
j)ressed  a  pistol  barrel  cold  as  an  ici- 
cle to  his  cheek. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  !  the  savage  !  he 
is  killing  me !  murder !  murder  ! 
help  !  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  roared  the  man, 
skaking  him. 

'•  C),  stop  him !  he  will  kill  me ! 
Shoot  him  !     Don't  shoot  me  !     I  am 


{  a  respectable  mat^.  ^ts  the  savage  ! 
I  kill  him  !  He  is»at  the  door,  — please 
I  kill  him  !  I  '11  give  you  a  hundred 
I  pounds !  " 

"  What  is  to  do?  The  critter  is 
mad  !  " 

"There!    there!    you   will    see    a 

savatre  !     Shoot  him  !  kill  him  !     For 

pity's  sake  kill  him,  and  I  'II  tell  you 

I  all  !    I  am  respectable.    I  '11  give  you 

a  hundred  pounds  to  kill  him  !  " 

•'  Why,  it  is  Smith,  that  gives  us 
all  a  treat  at  times." 

"  Don't  I !  O  my  dear  good  friend, 
he  has  killed  me  !  He  came  after  me 
with  his  tomakawk.  Have  ])ity  on  a 
respectable  man,  —  and  kill  him  !  " 

The  man  went  to  the  door  of  the 
tent  and  sure  enough  there  was  Jacky, 
who  had  retired  to  some  diJitance. 
The  man  tired  at  him  with  as  little 
ceremony  as  he  would  at  a  glass  bot- 
tle, and,  as  was  to  be  expected,  missed 
him  ;  but  Jacky,  who  had  a  whole- 
some horror  of  the  make-thunders, 
ran  off  directly,  and  went  to  hack  the 
last  vestiges  of  life  out  of  hrutus. 

Crawley  remained  on  his  knees, 
howling  and  whimpering  so  piteously 
that  the  man  took  pity  on  this  abject 
personage. 

"  Have  a  drop,  Mr.  Smith  ;  you 
have  often  given  me  one,  —  there. 
I  '11  strike  a  light." 

The  man  struck  a  light  and  fixed 
a  candle  in  a  socket.  He  fumbled  in 
a  corner  for  the  bottle,  and  wa.s  aboiit 
to  offer  it  to  Crawley,  when  he  was 
arrested  by  a  look  of  silent  horror  on 
his  visitor's  face. 

"  Why,  what  is  wrong  now  ?  " 

"  Look  !  look  !  look  !  "  cried  Craw- 
ley, trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
"  iiere  it  comes!  there  is  its  tail! 
Soon  its  eyes  and  teeth  will  catch 
light!  It  knows  the  work  we  have 
been  at.     Ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  " 

The  man  looked  round  very  un- 
easily. C'rawley's  way  of  pointing 
and  glaring  over  one's  head  at  some 
object  behind  one  was  anything  but 
encouraging. 

"  What  'i  where  1  " 

"  There !    there  !    coming   through 


368  ' 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


the  gido  of  the  tent.  It  can  come 
throuf;h  a  wall !  "  and  Cruwlcy  shook 
from  ln.ad  to  iool. 

"  Wliy,  that  is  your  own  shadow," 
said  the  num.  "  Why,  what  a  faint- 
hearted one  to  shake  at  your  own 
shadow." 

"  My  shadow  !  "  cried  Crawley ; 
"  Heaven  lorbid  !  Have  I  |[,'Ot  a  tail  1  " 
screeched  Crawley,  reproachfully. 

"That  you  have,"  said  the  man, 
"now  1  look  at  you  full." 

Crawley  clapped  his  hand  behind 
him,  and  to  his  horror  he  had  a  tail  ! 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

Crawley,  who,  what  with  the 
habit  of  cerel)ral  hallucination  due  to 
brandy  and  the  present  flutter  of  his 
spirits  and  his  conscience,  had  for  a 
moment  or  two  lost  all  the  landmarks 
of  probability,  no  sooner  felt  his  hand 
encounter  a  tail,  —  slight  in  size,  but 
stiff  as  a  pug's,  and  straight  as  a 
pointer's,  —  than  he  uttered  a  dismal 
bowl,  and  it  is  said  that  for  a  single 
moment  he  really  suspected  prema- 
ture caudation  had  been  inflicted  on 
him  for  his  crimes.  But  such  delu- 
sions are  short-lived.  He  slewed  him- 
self round  after  this  tail  in  his  efforts 
to  see  it,  and  squinting  over  his  shoul- 
der he  did  see  it ;  and  a  warm  liquid 
which  he  now  felt  stealing  down  his 
legs  and  turning  cold  as  it  went, 
opened  his  eyes  still  further.  It  was 
a  red  spear  sticking  in  his  person,  — 
sticking  tight.  Jacky,  Avho  had  never 
got  so  near  him  as  he  fancied,  saw  him 
about  to  get  into  a  tent,  and,  unable 
to  tomahawk  him,  did  the  best  he 
could, —  flung  a  light  javelin  with 
such  force  and  address  that  it  pierced 
his  coat  and  trousers  and  buried  iialf 
its  head  in  his  flesh. 

This  spear-head,  made  of  jagged 
fish-bones,  had  to  be  cut  out  hy  the 
simjjle  and  agreeable  process  of 
making  all  round  it  a  hole  larger 
than  itself.  The  operation  served  to 
occupy    Crawley   for   the   remaining 


I  part  of  the  night,  and  exercised  his 
I  vocal  powers.  This  was  tjc  lir^t 
time  he  had  smarted  in  his  penctiablo 
part,  —  the  skin,  —  and  it  made  him 
very  spiteful.  Away  went  his  com- 
punction, and  at  peej)  of  day  he 
shambled  out  very  siilF,  no  lunger 
dreading,  but  longing,  to  hear  which 
of  his  enemies  it  was  he  hud  seen 
wrapped  in  flame,  shrieking,  and 
annihilated  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle. 
He  came  to  the  scene  of  action  just 
as  the  sun  rose. 

But  others  were  there  before  him. 
A  knot  of  men  stood  round  a  black 
patch  of  scorched  soil,  round  which 
were  scattered  little  fragments  of  can- 
vas burnt  to.  tinder,  talking  over  a 
most  mysterious  affair  of  the  niyht 
past. 

It  came  out  that  the  patrol,  some  of 
whom  were  present,  had  been  oidered 
by  Captain  Robinson  not  to  go  their 
rounds  as  usual,  but  to  watch  in  a 
tent  near  his  own,  since  he  expected 
an  attack.  Accustomed  to  keep 
awake  on  the  move,  but  not  in  a  re- 
cumbent posture,  they  had  slept  the 
sleep  of  infancy,  till  suddenly  awak- 
ened by  the  sound  of  a  pistol.  Tiien 
they  had  run  out,  and  had  found  the 
captain's  tent  in  ashes,  and  a  man  l}-- 
ing  near  it  sore  hacked  and  inscnt^ible, 
but  still  breathing.  They  had  taken 
him  to  their  tent,  but  he  had  never 
spoken,  and  the  afl'air  was  incompre- 
hensible. While  each  Avas  giving 
some  wild  opinion  or  another,  a  Aiint 
voice  issued  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  invoking  aid. 

Several  ran  to  the  spot,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  an  old  claim  full  thirty  feet 
deep  they  discovered  on  looking  in- 
tently down  the  face  of  a  man  rising 
out  of  the  clayey  water.  They  low- 
ered ro}>es  and  hauled  him  up. 

*•  How  did  you  come  there,  mate  ?  " 

"  He  had  come  into  the  camj)  in  the 
dark,  and,  not  knowing  the  ground, 
and  having  (to  tell  the  truth)  had  a 
drop,  he  had  fallen  into  the  claim." 

Ht!  was  asked  with  an  air  of  sus- 
picion how  long  ago  this  had  hap. 
pened. 


"IT   IS  NEVKR   TOO   LATE  TO   MKNl).' 


369 


"  ^lorc  than  nn  hour,"  replied  the 
wily  one. 

Crawley  looked  nt  him,  and  beinj;, 
unlike  the  others,  ueciuairitcd  with  tiie 
man's  features,  saw,  sjtite  of  the  elay- 
cake  he  was  enveloped  in,  that  his 
whiskers  were  frizzled  to  nothinj,'  and 
his  fiendish  eyebrows  pone.  Then  a 
siekeninjjsuspieion  crept  over  liim ; 
he  eoinnnmicated  it  by  a  look  to  me- 
phistopheles. 

Aetinjr  on  it  he  asked,  with  an  art- 
ful appearance  of  friendly  interest :  — 

"  But  the  men  1  the  poor  men  that 
were  in  the  tent  1  " 

"  What !  the  captain  and  his 
mate  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  Why,  ye  fool !  they  are  half-way 
to  Svdnev  bv  now." 

"  Half-way  to  Sydney  ?  "  and  a 
ghastly  look  passed  between  the 
speaker  and  mephistopheles. 

"  Ay,  lad  !  they  rode  off" on  Moore's 
two  best  najrs  at  midni<iht." 

'*  The  captain  had  a  belt  round  his 
waist  crammed  Avith  dust  and  bank- 
notes," cried  another,  "  and  the  farm- 
er a  nufr{;et  as  big  as  a  pumpkin  on 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle." 

Four  hours  had  not  elapsed  ere 
Crawley  and  mephistopheles  were  on 
the  road  to  Sydney,  but  not  on  horse- 
back. Crawley  had  no  lonjrer  funds 
to  buy  two  horses,  and,  even  if  he  had, 
he  could  not  have  borne  the  saddle 
after  the  barbarous  surgery  of  last 
night,  —  the  lance-head  was  cut  out 
with  a  cheese-knife.  But  he  and  me- 
phistopheles joined  a  company  of  suc- 
cessful diggers  going  down  with  their 
swag.  On  the  road  they  constantly 
passed  smaller  parties  of  unfortunate 
diggers,  who  had  left  the  mine  in 
despair  when  the  weather  broke  and 
the  claims  filled  with  water;  and  the 
farther  they  went  the  more  wretched 
was  the  condition  of  those  they  over- 
took. Ragged,  shoeless,  hungry, 
foot-sore,  heart-sore,  poor,  broken  pil- 
grims from  the  shrine  of  mammon. 

Now  it  befell  that,  forty  miles  on 
this  side  Sydney,  they  fell  in  with 
seven  such  ragtzed  spectres  ;  and, 
IG* 


while  they  were  giving  thc<!C  a  littlo 
food,  nj)  came  from  the  city  a  large, 
joyful  party,  —  the  eagerness  of  hope 
and  cupidity  on  their  faces. 

"  Hallo  !  are  they  mad,  going  up 
to  the  diggings  in  the  wet  weather ! " 

They  were  questioned. 

A  hundred-weight  of  gold  had  been 
found  at  the  diggings,  and  all  the 
town  was  turning  out  to  find  some 
more  such  ])rizes  ;  and,  in  fact,  every 
mile  after  this  they  met  a  party,  great 
or  small,  ardent,  sanguine,  on  an  al- 
most hopeless  errand. 

Such  is  the  strange  and  fatal  no- 
logic  of  speculation.  For  us  the  rare 
is  to  turn  common,  and,  when  we 
have  got  it,  be  rare  as  ever. 

mephistopheles  and  Crawley  parted 
at  the  suburb  ;  the  former  was  to  go 
to  certain  haunts  and  form  a  gang  to 
seize  the  rich  prize.  Meantime  Craw- 
ley would  enter  the  town  and  discov- 
er where  the  men  were  lodging.  If 
in  an  inn,  one  of  the  gang  must  go 
there  as  a  well-dressed  traveller,  and 
watch  his  opportunity.  If  in  a  lodg- 
ing, other  means. 

Crawley  found  the  whole  city  ring- 
ing with  the  great  nugget.  Crawley 
put  eager  questions,  and  received 
ready  answers.  He  was  shown  the 
bank  up  to  which  the  men  had  ridden 
in  broad  daylight ;  the  one  on  the 
big  horse  had  the  nugget  on  his  sad- 
dle ;  they  had  taken  it,  and  broken  it, 
and  weighed  it,  and  sold  it  in  the 
bank  parlor  for  three  thousand  eight 
hundred  pounds. 

Crawley  did  not  like  this,  he  had 
rather  they  had  not  converted  it  in- 
to paper.  His  next  question  was, 
whether  it  was  known  where  the  men 
lodged. 

"  Known  !  I  believe  you  ;  why,  they 
are  more  thought  of  than  the  gover- 
nor. Everybody  runs  to  get  a  word 
with  them,  gentle  or  simple.  Yott 
will  find  them  at  the  '  Ship  '  inn." 

To  the  "  Ship  "  went  Crawley.  lie 
dared  not  be  too  direct  in  his  queries, 
so  he  put  them  in  form  of  a  statement. 

"  You  have   got  some  lucky  ones 
here,  that  found  the  great  nugget  1 " 
X 


370 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO   MEND.' 


"  Well,  we  had  !  but  they  are  gone, 
—  been  gone  this  two  hours.  Do  you 
know  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Crawley,  without  fear, 
as  tliey  were  gone.  "  Where  are  they 
gone,  do  you  know  1  " 

"  Why,  home,  I  suppose ;  you 
chaps  make  your  money  out  of  us, 
but  you  all  run  home  to  spend  it." 

"  What,  gone  to  England  !  "  gasped 
Crawley. 

"  Ay,  look !  there  is  the  ship  just 
being  towed  out  of  the  harbor." 

Crawley  shambled,  and  tore,  and 
ran,  and  was  just  in  time  to  see  the 
two  friends  standing  with  beaming 
faces  on  the  vessel's  deck  as  she 
glided  out  on  her  voyage  home. 

He  sat  down  half  stupid;  mepliis- 
topheles  went  on  collecting  his  gang 
in  the  suburbs. 

The  steamer  cast  off,  and  came 
whe-eling  back ;  the  ship  spread  her 
hugh  white  plumage,  and  went  proudly 
off  to  sea,  the  blue  waves  breaking 
white  under  her  bows. 

Crawley  sat  glaring  at  all  this  in  a 
state  of  mental  collapse. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

Thus  have  I  told  in  long  and  te- 
dious strains  how  George  Fielding 
went  to  Australia  to  make  a  thousand 
pounds,  and  how  \)y  industry,  sobri- 
ety, and  cattle,  he  did  not  make  a 
thousand  pounds,  and  how,  aided  with 
the  help  of  a  converted  thief,  this  hon- 
est fellow  did  by  gold  digging,  indus- 
try, and  sobriety,  make  several  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  take  them  safe 
away  home,  spite  of  many  wicked  de- 
vices and  wicked  men. 

Thus  have  I  told  how  Mr.  Mead- 
ows flung  out  his  left  hand  into  Aus- 
tralia to  keej)  George  from  coming 
back  to  Susan  with  a  thousand  pounds, 
aTid  how,  spite  of  one  stroke  of  success, 
his  left  hand  eventually  failed,  and 
failed  completely. 

But  his  riiiht'? 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

Joyous  as  the  first  burst  of  sum- 
mer were  the  months  Susan  passed 
after  the  receipt  of  George's  happy 
letter.  Many  warm  feelings  combined 
in  one  strciim  of  happiness  in  Susan's 
heart.  Perhaps  the  keenest  of  all  was 
pride  at  George's  success.  Nobody 
could  laugh  at  George  now,  and  insult 
her  again  there  where  she  was  mos( 
sensitive,  by  telling  her  that  George 
was  not  good  enough  for  her  or 
any  woman ;  and  even  those  who  set 
such  store  upon  money-making  would 
have  to  confess  that  George  could  do 
even  that  for  love  of  her,  as  well 
as  they  could  do  it  for  love  of  them- 
selves. Next  to  this  her  joy  was  great- 
est at  the  prospect  of  his  speedy  re- 
turn. 

And  now  she  became  joyfully 
impatient  for  further  news,  but  not 
disappointed  at  his  silence  till  two 
months  had  passed  without  another 
letter:  then,  indeed,  anxiety  mingled 
now  aiid  then  with  her  happiness. 
Then  it  was  that  Meadows,  slowly  and 
hesitatingly  to  the  last,  raised  his  hand 
and  struck  the  first  direct  blow  at  her 
heart.  He  struck  in  the  (lark :  he 
winced  for  her  both  before  and' after. 
Yet  he  struck. 

One  market-day  a  whisper  passed 
through  Farnborough  that  G'eorge 
Fielding  had  met  with  wonderful  luck. 
That  he  had  made  his  fortune  by  gold, 
and  was  going  to  marry  a  young  lady 
out  in  Australia.  Farmer  Merton 
brought  the  whisper  home.  Meadows 
was  sure  he  would. 

Meadows  did  not  come  to  the  house 
for  some  days.  He  half  feared  to 
look  upon  his  work  :  to  see  Susan's 
face  agonized  under  his  blow.  At 
last  he  came  :  he  watched  her  by 
stealth.  He  foun(\  he  might  have 
spared  his  qualms.  She  chatted  as 
usual  in  very  good  spirit^,  and  just 
before  he  went  she  told  him  the  re- 
port with  a  smile  of  ineffihle  scorn. 

She  was  simple,  unsuspicious,  and 
every  way  without  a  shield  against  a 
Meadows,  but  the   loyal  heart  by  its 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO    MKXD.' 


J71 


ed;;L'. 

A  week  after  this  Jefferics  hronp^ht 
!Me:i(lows  ji  lett«'r;  it  was  from  Susan 
to  Georixe,  Meadows  read  ir  writli- 
iiiir  :  it  breath  (l  kind  affeetion,  with 
one  or  two  denii-inaternal  cautions 
ahout  liis  health,  aiul  to  bo  very  pru- 
dent for  her  sake  :  not  a  word  of 
doul>t  ;  there  w:is,  however,  a  post- 
srript  of  which  the  followin>^  is  the 
exact  wordin-i; :  — 

"  r.  S.  It  is  all  over  Farnboroujjh 
that  you  are  ffoinj^  to  be  married  to 
someone  in  Australia." 

Two  months  more  passed,  and  no 
letter  from  George.  These  two  months 
told  upon  Susan;  she  fretted  and  be- 
came restless  and  irritable,  and  cold 
misj;ivin;^s  crept  over  her,  and  the  an- 
guish of  suspense! 

At  last  one  day  she  unbosomed  her- 
self, though  with  hesitation,  to  a 
Avarm  and  disinterested  friend  ;  blush- 
iui^  all  over  with  tearful  eyes  she  con- 
fessed her  grief  to  Mr.  Meadows. 
"  Don't  tell  father,  sir ;  I  hide  my 
trouble  from  him  as  well  as  I  can,  but 
■what  does  it  mean  George  not  writ- 
ing to  me  these  four  months  and 
'three  days  ?  Dj  pray  tell  me  what 
does  it  mean  !  "  and  Susan  cried  so 
piteously  that  Meadows  winced  at  his 
success. 

"  O  Mr.  Meadows !  don't  flatter 
me  ;  tell  me  the  truth."  While  he 
•was  exulting  in  her  firmness,  who  de- 
manded the  truth,  bitter  or  not,  she 
continued:  "only  don't  tell  me  that 
I  am  forgotten  !  "  And  she  looked 
60  piteously  in  the  oracle's  face,  that 
he  forgot  everything  in  the  desire  to 
say  something  she  would  like  him  the 
better  for  saying  ;  he  muttered,  "  Per- 
haps he  has  sailed  for  home."  He 
expected  her  to  say,  "  And  if  he  has 
he  would  have  written  to  me  before 
sailing."  But  instead  of  this  Susan 
gave  a  little  cry  of  joy. 

"  Ah !  how  foolisli  I  have  been. 
Mr.  Meadows,  you  are  a  friend  out 
of  a  thousand  ;  you  are  as  wise  as  I 
am  foolish.  Poor  George!  you  will 
never  let  him  know  I  was  so  wicked 


as  to  doubt  him."  Anfl  Susan  bright- 
ened with  joy  and  hope.  The  heart 
believes  so  readily  the  thing  it  longs 
shouM  be  true.  She  was  haj^py  all 
the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Ml  adows  went  away  mad  with  her 
for  her  folly,  and  with  hinjself  for  liis 
feebleness  of  purpose,  and  next  mar- 
ket-day again  the  whisper  went  round 
the  market  that  George  Fielding  was 
going  to  marry  out  there.  This  time 
a  detail  was  sketched  in  :  "  it  was  a 
lady  in  the  town  of  Bathurst." 

Old  Merton  brought  this  home  and 
twitted  his  daughter.  She  answered 
haughtily  that  it  was  a  falsehood. 
She  would  stake  her  life  on  George's 
fidelity. 

*'  See,  Mr.  Meadows,  they  are  all 
against  poor  George,  all  except  you. 
But  what  does  it  mean  ?  if  he  does 
not  write  or  come  soon  I  think  1  shall 
go  mad." 

"  Report  is  a  common  liar  ;  I  would 
not  believe  anything  till  I  saw  it  in 
black  and  white,"  said  Meadows,  dog- 
gedly. 

"  No  more  I  will." 

Soon  after  this  William  Fielding 
had  a  talk  with  Susan. 

"  Have  you  heard  a  report  about 
George  1 "' 

"  Yei»  !  I  have  heard  a  rumor." 

"  You  don't  believe  it,  I  hope." 

"  Why  should  I  believe  it  1  " 

"  I  am  going  to  trace  it  up  to  the 
liar  that  forged  it,  if  I  can." 

Susan  suppressed  her  satisfaction 
at  this  resolution  of  Will  Fielding's. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  1  "  asked  she, 
coldly. 

"  if  I  didn't  think  so,  I  should  n't 
take  that  much  trouble,  not  expecting 
any  thanks." 

"  Have  I  -said  anything  to   offend 


you 


asked    Susan,   with   a    still 


more  frigid  tone. 

The  other  did  not  trust  himself  to 
answer.  But  two  days  after  he  came 
again,  and  told  her  he  had  written  a 
letter  to  George,  telling  him  what  re- 
ports' were  about,  and  begging  for  an 
answer  whether  or  not  there  was  any 
truth  in  them. 


372 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   iMEXD." 


A  gleam  of  satisfaction  from  Su- 
san's eyes,  hut  not  a  word.  This 
man,  who  had  once  heen  Geor^^e's  ri- 
val at  heart,  was  the  last  to  whotn  she 
would  openly  acknowled^^e  her  doubts. 
Then  Will  went  on  to  tell  her  that  he 
had  traced  the  rumor  from  one  to  an- 
other up  to  a  stranger  whose  name 
nobody  knew ;  "  but  I  dare  say  Mr. 
MeadoAvs  has  a  notion." 

"No!  " 

"Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  he  would  have  told  me  if 
he  had." 

William  gave  a  snort  of  incredu- 
lity, and  hinted  that  probably  Mr. 
Meadows  himself  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  scandid. 

Now  Meadows's  artful  conduct  had 
fortified  Susan  against  such  a  suspi- 
cion, and,  being  by  nature  a  warm- 
hearted friend,  she  fired  up  for  him, 
as  she  would  have  for  Mr.  Eden,  or 
even  for  poor  Will  in  his  absence.  She 
did  it  too  in  the  most  womanish  way. 
She  did  not  tell  the  young  man  that 
she  had  consulted  Mr.  Meadows,  and 
that  he  had  constantly  discredited  the 
report,  and  set  her  against  believing  it. 
Had  she  done  this,  she  would  have 
staggered  the  simple  -  minded  Will ; 
but  no ;  she  said  to  herself,  "  He  has 
attacked  a  good  friend  of  mine,  I  won't 
satisfy  him  so  far  as  to  give  him  rea- 
sons ";    so  she  merely  snubbed  him. 

"  0,  I  know  you  are  set  against 
poor  Mr.  Meadows ;  he  is  a  good 
friend  of  ours,  of  my  father,  and  me, 
and  of  George,  too." 

"  I  wish  you  may  not  have  to  alter 
your  mind,"  sneered  Will. 

"  I  will  not  without  a  reason." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  reason  ;  do  you 
remember  that  day  —  " 

"  When  you  insulted*  him  in  his 
own  house,  and  me  into  the  bargain. 
Will  ?  " 

"  Not  you,  Susan,  leastways  I  hope 
not,  l)ut  him  I  did,  and  afn  just  as 
like  to  do  it  again  ;  well,  when  you 
were  gone,  I  took  a  thought,  and  I 
said,  appearances  deceive  the  wisest ; 
I  may  be  mistaken  —  " 

"  He  !  he  !  " 


"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  laugh- 
ing at  ;  and  then,  says  J,  it  is  his  own 
liDUse,  alter  all,  so  I  said,  '  If  1  am 
wrong,  and  you  don't  mean  to  under- 
mine my  brother,  take  my  hand  ' ; 
and  I  gave  it  him." 

"  And  he  refused  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Susan  !  " 

"  Well,  then  —  " 

"But  Susan,"  said  William,  sol- 
emnly, "  his  hand  lay  in  mine  like  a 
stone." 

"  Keally,  now  !  " 

"A  lump  of  ice  would  be  as  near 
the  mark." 

"  Well !  is  that  the  reason  you 
promised  me  1  " 

William  nodded. 

"  William,  you  are  a  fool." 

"  Oh  !  I  am'  a  fool  now  ?  " 

"  You  go  and  insult  a  man,  your 
superior  in  CA'cry  respect,  and  the 
very  next  moment  he  is  to  give  you 
his  hand  as  warmly  as  to  a  friend, 
and  an  equal  ;  you  really  are  too  fool- 
ish to  go  without  a  keeper,  and  if  it 
was  in  any  man's  power,  to  set  me 
against  poor  George  altogether  you 
have  gone  the  way  to  do  it  this  twelve 
months  past"  ;  and  Susan  closed  the 
conference  abruptly. 

It  was  William's  fate  to  rivet  Mead- 
ows's influence  by  every  blow  he  aimed 
at  it.  For  all  that  the  prudent  Mead- 
ows thought  it  worth  his  while  to  rid 
himself  of  this  honest  and  determined 
foe,  and  he  had  already  taken  steps. 
He  had  discovered  that  this  last 
month  William  Fielding,  returning 
from  market,  had  been  seen  more  than 
once  to  stop  and  chat  at  one  Mrs. 
Holiday's,  a  retired  small  tradeswo- 
man in  Farnborough.  Now  Mrs. 
Holiday  was  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Meadows's  and  had  given  him  sugar- 
plums thirty  years  ago.  It  suited  his 
purpose  to  remember  all  of  a  sudden 
these  old  sugar-plums,  and  that  Mrs. 
Holiday  had  lately  told  him  she 
wanted  to  get  out  ot  the  town  and  end 
her  days  upon  turf. 

There  was  a  cottage,  paddock,  and 
garden  for  sale  within  a  hundred  yards 
of"  The  Gi'ove."     Meadows    bought 


••IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND. 


373 


them  a  jrooil  barq:ain,  and  offered 
tliem  to  the  widow  at  a  very  moderate 
rent. 

The  widow  was  charmed.  "  Why, 
we  can  keep  a  cow,  Mr.  Meadows." 

"  Well,  there  is  <rrass  enouj,^h." 

Tlie  widow  took  the  cottage  with 
enthusiasm. 

Mrs.  Holiday  had  a  dau<jhter,  a 
handsome,  a  downri^xht  handsome 
girl,  and  a  fjood  ^xirl  into  the  bargain. 

Meadows  had  said  to  himself:  "It 
is  not  the  old  woman  Will  Fieldin*; 
troes  there  for.  Well,  she  will  want 
some  one  to  teach  her  how  to  farm 
that  half-acre  of  i^rass,  and  buy  the 
cow  and  milk  her.  Friendly  offices 
—  chat  comin;,^  and  going — come  in, 
Mr.  Fielding,  and  taste  your  cow's 
cream  !  — and,  when  he  has  got  a  lass 
of  his  own,  his  eye  won't  be  forever 
on  mine." 

William's  letter  to  George  went  to 
the  post-office,  and  from  the  post-office 
to  a  little  pile  of  intercepted  letters  in 
Meadows's  desk. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

Nearly  eight  months  had  now 
elapsed  without  a  letter  from  George. 
Susan  could  no  longer  deceive  herself 
with  hopes.  George  was  either  false 
to  her  or  dead.  She  said  as  much  to 
her  false  friend.  This  inspired  him 
with  an  artifice  as  subtle  as  unscru- 
pulous. A  letter  had  been  brought 
to  him  by  Jetferies,  which  he  at  once 
recognized  as  the  planned  letter  from 
Crawley  to  another  tool  of  his  in 
Farriborough.  This  very  day  he  set 
about  a  report  that  George  was  dead. 
It  did  not  reach  Susan  so  soon  as 
he  thought  it  would,  for  old  Merton 
hesitated  to  tell  her,  but  on  the  Sun- 
day evening,  with  considerable  reluc- 
tance and  misgivings,  he  tried  in  a 
very  clumsy  way  to  prepare  her  for 
sad  news. 

But  her  mind  had  long  been  pre- 
pared for  bitter  tidings.  Fancy  eight 
weary  months,  spent  in  passing  every 


possible  calamity  before  her  imagina- 
tion, (loath  as  otten  as  any. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  old  man. 
"Father,  (icorge  is  dead  !  " 

Ohl  Merton  hung  his  head,  and 
made  no  reply. 

That  was  enough.  Susan  crept 
from  the  room  pale  as  ashes.  She 
tottered,  but  she  did  not  fall.  She 
reached  her  room  and  locked  herself 
in. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

Mr.  Meadows  did  not  visit  Grass- 
mere  for  some  days  :  the  cruel  on^, 
distrusted  his  own  firmness.  When 
he  did  come  he  catne  with  a  distinct 
purpose.     He  found  Merton  alone. 

"  Susan  sees  no  one.     You  have 
heard  ? " 
."  What?" 

"  Her  sweetheart.     He  is  dead." 

"  Why,  how  can  that  be  ?  And 
who  says  so  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  news." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  falsehood  !  "  said 
Mr.  Meadons,  coolly. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  it  might,"  whis- 
pered old  Merton,  "  for  she  won't  live 
long  after  him." 

Mr.  Meadows  then  told  Merton  that 
he  had  spoken  with  a  man  who  had 
got  news  of  George  Fielding  not  four 
months  old,  and  he  was  in  very  good 
health. 

"  Will  you  tell  Susan  this  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

Susan  was  called  down.  Meadows 
started  at  the  sight  of  her.  She  was 
pale  and  hollow-eyed,  and  in  these 
few  days  seemed  ten  years  older.  She 
was  dressed  all  in  black.  "  I  am  a 
murderer ! "  thought  he.  And  re- 
morse without  one  grain  of  honest  re- 
pentance pierced  his  heart. 

"  Speak  out,  John,"  said  the  fia,- 
ther,  "  the  girl  is  not  a  fool.  She  has 
b»rne  ill  news,  she  can  bear  good. 
Can't  you,  Susan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  father,  if  it  is  God's  will 
any  good  news  should  come  to  me." 
And  she  never  took  her  eyes  off  Mr. 


374 


"IT   IS   KEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


Meadows,  but  belied  her  assumed 
iirmness  by  quivering  like  uu  aspen- 
leaf. 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Griffin  ?  "  asked 
Meadowsi 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  Susan,  still  trem- 
blino:  {gently,  hut  all  over. 

'*  He  has  got  a  letter  from  Sydney 
from  a  little  roguish  attorney  called 
Crawley.  I  heard  him  say  with  my 
own  ears  that  Crawley  tells  him  he 
had  just  seen  George  Fielding  in  the 
streets  of  Sydney,  well  and  hearty." 

"  You  are  deceiving  me  out  of  kind- 
ness."    (Her  eyes  fixed  on  his.) 

"  I  am  not.  I  wish  I  may  die  if 
the  man  is  not  as  well  as  I  am  !  " 

Her  eyes  were  never  oif  his  face,  and 
at  this  moment  she  read  for  certain 
that  it  was  true. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  so  keen  it 
was  painful  to  hear,  and  then  she 
laughed  and  cried  and  sank  into  a 
chair  laughing  and  crying  in  strong 
hysterics,  that  lasted  till  the  poor  girl 
almost  fainted  from  exhaustion.  Her 
joy  was  more  violent  and  even  terri- 
ble than  her  grief  had  been. 

The  female  servants  were  called  to 
assist  her,  and  old  Merton  and  Mead- 
ows left  her  in  their  hands,  feeble,  but 
calm  and  thankful.  She  even  smiled 
her  adieu  to  Meadows. 

The  next  day  Meadows  called  upon 
Griffin.  "  Let  me  look  at  that  let- 
ter 1  "  said  he.  "  I  want  to  copy  a 
part  of  it." 

"  There  has  been  one  here  before 
you,"  said  Griffin. 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  give  her  name,  but  I 
think  it  must  have  been  Miss  Merton. 
She  beggetl  me  hard  to  let  her  see  the 
letter.  I  told  her  she  might  take  it 
home  with  her.  Poor  thing  !  she  gave 
me  a  look  as  if  she  could  have  eaten 
me." 

"  AVhat  else  ?  "  asked  Meadows, 
anxiously,  —  his  success  had  run 
ahead   of  his   plot. 

"  She  put  it  in  her  bosom." 

"  In  her  bosom  1  " 

"Ay!  and  pressed  her  little  white 
hands   upon  it  as   if  she  had  got   a 


treasure.  I  doubt  it  will  be  more  like 
the  asp  in  the  Bible  story,  eh !  sir  1  " 

"  There  !  1  don't  want  your  reflec- 
tions," said  Meadows,  fiercely,  but 
his  voice  quavered.  The  myrmidon 
was  silenced. 

Susan  made  her  escape  into  a  field 
called  the  Kynecroft,  belonging  to  the 
citizens,  and  there  she  read  the  letter. 
It  was  a  long  tiresome  one,  all  about 
matters  of  business  which  she  did  not 
understand ;  it  was  only  at  the  last  page 
that  she  caught  sight  of  the  name  she 
longed  to  see.  She  hurried  down  to 
it,  and  when  she  got  to  it  with  beating 
heart  it  was  the  fate  of  this  innocent, 
loving  woman  to  read  these  words  :  — 

"  What  luck  some  have.  There  is 
George  Fielding,  of  the  '  Grove  P'arm,' 
has  made  his  fortune  at  the  gold,  and 
married  yesterday  to  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest giris  in  Sydney.  I  met  them 
walking  in  the  street  to-day.  She 
would  not  have  looked  at  him  but  for 
the  gold." 

Susan  uttered  a  faint  moan,  and 
sank  down  slowly  on  her  knees,  like 
some  tender  tree  felled  by  a  rude 
stroke  ;  her  eyes  seemed  to  swim  in  a 
mist,  she  tried  to  read  the  cruel  words 
again  but  could  not ;  she  put  her 
hands   before  her  eyes. 

"  He  is  alive,"  she  said,  "  thank 
God,  he  is  alive."  And  at  last  tears 
forced  their  way  through  her  fingers. 
She  took  her  handkerchief  and  dried 
her  eyes.  "  Why  do  I  cry  for  another 
woman's  husband  ?  "  and  the  hot  col- 
or of  shame  and  of  wounded  pride 
burst  even  through  her  tears. 

"  I  will  not  cry,"  said  she,  proudly, 
"  he  is  alive,  —  I  will  not  cry,  —  he 
has  forgotten  me  ;  from  this  moment  I 
will  never  shed  another  tear  for  one 
that  is  alive  and  unworthy  of  a  tear. 
I  will  go  home." 

She  went  home,  crying  all  the  way. 

And  now  a  partial  success  attended 
the  deep  Meadows's  policy.  It  was  no 
common  stroke  of  unscrupulous  cun- 
ning to  plunge  her  into  the  very 
depths  of  woe  in  order  to  take  her  out 
of  them.  The  effects  were  manifold, 
and  all  tended  his  way. 


"IT    IS   NKVKK   TOO   LATE   TO   MKXD.' 


375 


First  she  was  less  sorrowful  than 
phc  hail  heen  lu-fore  that  (k-adly  hlow, 
fur  now  tlic  heart  had  n-alizi'd  a  ;;reat- 
er  W(K',  and  had  the  miserable  eoin- 
fort  of  the  comparison  ;  hut  above  all 
new  and  stroni;  passions  iia<l  risen  and 
battled  fiercely  with  grief,  —  aii-j^er 
and  wouniled  pride. 

Susan  had  self-respect  and  pride 
too,  perhaps  a  shade  too  much,  ihouj;h 
less  small  vanity  than  have  most  per- 
sons of  her  moderate  calibre. 

What !  had  she  wept  ami  sii^hed  all 
these  months  for  a  man  who  did  not 
care  for  her } 

What!  had  she  defied  sneers,  and 
despised  affectionate  hints,  and  gloried 
openly  in  her  love,  to  be  openly  in- 
sulteil  an<l  betrayed  ! 

Wtiat !  had  she  shut  herself  from 
tlie  world,  and  put  on  mourning  and 
bticn  seen  in  mourning  for  one  who 
•v^ras  not  dead,  but  well  and  happy  and 
married  to  another ! 

An  agony  of  shame  rushed  over  the 
wronged,  insulted,  humiliated  beauty. 
She  longed  to  fly  from  the  world.  She 
asked  her  father  to  leave  Grassmere 
and  go  to  some  other  ftirm  a  hundred 
miles  away.  She  asked  him  suddenly, 
nervously,  and  so  impetuously  that  the 
old  man  looked  up  in  dismay. 

"  What!  leave  ih?farm  where  your 
mother  lived  with  me,  and  where  you 
were  born.  I  should  feel  strange, 
girl,  but"  —  and  he  gave  a  strange 
sigh  — "  mayhap  I  shall  have  to 
leave  it  wliether  I  will  or  no." 

Susan  misunderstood  him  and  col- 
ored with  self-reproach.  She  said 
hastily  •  "  No  !  no  !  Father,  you 
slia'  n't  leave  it  for  me.  Forgive  me, 
I  am  a  wayward  girl !  " 

And  the  strung  nerves  gave  way, 
and  tears  gushed  over  the  liot  cheeks, 
as  she  clung  to  her  father,  and  tried 
to  turn  tlic  current  of  her  despised 
love  and  bestow  it  all  on  that  selfish 
old  noodle.  A  great  treasure  went  a 
begging  ia  Grassmere  farm-house. 

JMr.  ]?.Ieadow3  called,  but  much  to 
Ills  chagrin  Susan  was  never  visible. 
"  Would  he  excuse  her  ?  she  was  in- 
disposed." 


The  next  evening  he  came  he  fonnd 
her  entertttiuinix  four  or  five  other 
farmers'  dauj^Iuers  and  a  coiiple  of 
young  men.  She  was  playing  the  j]|V. 
ano  to  them,  and  taikhj^  lyndXiUi^b:^ 
ing  louder  and  f  ister  than  ever  he  had 
heard  her  in  his  life.  lie  sat  moody 
a  little  while  and  watched  her  unea- 
sily, but  soon  took  his  line,  and  ex- 
erting his  excellent  social  powers  be- 
came the  life  of  the  party.  But  as 
he  warmed  Stisan  froze,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  Somebody  must  play  the  fool 
to  amuse  these  triflers,  —  if  you  un- 
dertake it  I  need  not."  For  all  that 
the  very  attempt  at  society  indicat- 
ed what  was  passing  in  Susan's 
mind,  and  the  deep  Meadows  invited 
all  present  to  meet  at  his  house  in 
two  days'  time. 

JNIeadows  was  now  living  in  Isaac 
Levi's  old  house.  He  had  examined 
it,  found  it  a  much  nicer  house  for 
him  than  his  new  one,  —  it  was  like 
himself,  full  of  ins  and  outs,  and  it 
was  more  in  the  heart  of  business  and 
yet  quiet ;  for,  though  it  stood  in  a 
row,  yet  it  was  as  good  as  detached, 
because  the  houses  on  each  side  were 
unoccupied.  They  belonged  to  Jews, 
probably  dependants  on  Isaac,  for 
they  had  left  the  town  about  a  twelve- 
month after  his  departure  and  had 
never  returned,  though  a  large  quan- 
tity of  goods  had  been  deposited  in 
one  of  the  houses. 

Meadows  contrived  that  this  little 
party  should  lead  to  another.  His 
game  was  to  draw  Susan  into  the 
world,  and  moreover  have  her  seen  in 
his  company.  She  made  no  resistance, 
for  her  wounded  pride  said,  "  Don't 
let  people  know  you  are  breaking  your 
heart  for  one  who  does  not  care  for 
you."  She  used  to  come  to  these 
parties  radiant  and  playing  her  ])art 
with  consummate  resolution  and  suc- 
cess, and  go  home  and  s])end  the 
night  in  tears. 

Meadows  did  not  see  the  tears  that 
followed  these  unusual  efforts.  —  )»er- 
haps  he  susj)ceted  them.  Enough 
for  him  that  Sudan's  pride  and  sliame 
and  indignation  were  set  against  her 


376 


tT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


love,  and,  above  all,  apainst  her  prief, 
and  that  she  was  formiii};  hal>its 
■whose  tendency  at  least  was  favorable 
to  bis  views. 

Another  four  months,  and  Su^an, 
exhausted  by  conHictinfj^  passions,  had 
settled  down  into  a  pensive  lan<juor, 
broken  by  <:usts  of  bitrer  grief,  which 
became  rarer  and  rarer.  Her  hcaltli 
recovered  itself,  all  but  its  elasticity. 
Her  pride  would  not  lot  her  pine  away. 
But  her  heart  scarcely  beat  at  all,  and 
perhaps  it  was  a  good  thing  for  her 
that  a  trouble  of  another  kind  came 
to  gently  stir  it.  Her  father,  who  had 
for  some  months  been  moody  and 
depressed,  confessed  to  her  that  he 
had  been  speculating  and  was  on  th  ' 
verge  of  ruin.  This  dreadful  disclo' 
sure  gave  little  more  ])ain  to  Susan 
than  if  he  had  told  her  his  head 
ached ;  but  she  put  down  her  work 
and  came  and  kissed  him,  and  tried  to 
console  him. 

"  1  must  work  harder,  that  is  all, 
father.  I  am  often  asked  to  give  a 
lesson  on  the  piano-forte ;  I  will  do 
that  for  your  sake,  and  don't  you  fret 
for  me.  What  with  the  trifle  my 
mother  settled  on  me  and  my  indus- 
try I  am  above  proverty,  and  you 
shall  never  see  me  repine." 

In  short,  poor  !Susan  took  her  father 
for  a  woman,  — adopted  a  line  of  con- 
solation addressed  to  his  affection  in- 
stead of  his  selfishness.  It  was  not 
for  her  he  was  attticted,  it  was  for 
himself. 

It  was  at  this  conjuncture  that 
IMeadows  spoke  out.  There  was  no 
longer  anything  to  be  gjiined  by  de- 
lay. In  fact,  he  could  not  but  ob- 
serve that  since  the  fatal  letter  he 
appeared  to  be  rather  losinir  giound 
in  his  old  character.  There  Avas 
nothing  left  him  but  to  attaclc  her  in 
a  new  one.  He  removed  the  barrier 
from  his  patient  im])atience. 

He  found  her  alone  one  evening. 
He  bej;ged  her  to  walk  in  the  garden. 
8he  complied  with  an  unsusjucting 
smile.  Then  he  told  her  all  he  hacl 
suffered  for  her  sake :  how  he  had 
loved  her  this  three  years  with  all  his 


soul,  —  how  he  never  thought  to  tell 
her  this,  —  how  hard  he  had  struggled 
as'ainst  it,  —  how  he  had  run  away 
from  it,  and  after  that  how  he  hail 
subdued  it,  or  thought  he  had  suhdued 
it,  to  esteem,  —  and  how  he  had  been 
rewarded  by  seeing  that  his  visits  and 
his  talk  had  done  her  some  good. 
"  But  now,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are 
free,  I  have  no  longer  the  foice  to 
hide  my  love  f  now  that  the  man  I 
dared  not  interfere  with  has  thrown 
away  the  jewel,  it  is  not  in  nature 
that  I  sliould  not  beg  to  be  allowed  to 
take  it  up  and  wear  it  in  my  heart." 

Susan  listened  ;  first  with  surprise, 
'ihen  with  confusion  and  pain,  then 
with  terror  at  the  violence  of  the 
man's  passion  ;  for,  the  long  restraint 
removed,  it  overwhelmed  hiin  like  a 
flood.  Her  bosom  heaved  with  mod- 
st  agitation,  and  soon  the  tears 
treamed  down  her  cheeks  at  his  pic- 
ture of  what  he  had  gone  through  for 
ler  sake.  She  made  shift  to  gasp 
ut,    "  My   poor   friend  ! "     But   she 

ded  alnft)st  fiercely  :  *'Let  no  man 
,'er  hope  for  affection  from  me,  for 
my  heart  is  in  the  grave.  O  that  I 
was  there  too  !  "  And  she  ran  sob- 
bing away  from  him  in  spite  of  his 
entreaties. 

Another  man  and  not  George  had 
made  a  confession  of  love  to  her.  His 
voice  had  trembled,  his  heart  quiv- 
ered, with  love  for  her,  and  it  was  not 
George.  So  then  another  link  was 
snapped.  Others  saw  they  had  a 
right  to  love  her  now,  and  acted  on  it. 

Meadows  was  at  a  loss,  but  he 
stayed  away  a  week  in  silence,  and 
thought  and  thought,  and  then  he 
Avrote  a  line  begging  jiermission  to 
visit  her  as  usual  :  "  I  have  been  so 
long  used  to  hide  my  feelings,  because 
they  Avere  unlawful,  that  I  can  surely 
hide  them  if  I  see  they  make  you 
more  unhappy  than  you  would  be 
without." 

Susan  replied  that  her  advice  to 
him  was  to  avoid  her  as  he  would  a 
pestilence.  He  came  as  usual,  and  told 
her  he  would  take  her  commands, 
but  could- not  take   her  advice.     He 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


377 


iroiild  ran  all  risks  to  his  own  heart. 
Hi'  was  fhi-erful.  chatly,  and  ni'vor 
said  a  woid  of  love  ;  and  this  nlieved 
Susan,  .>«o  that  the  evenini^  passed 
pleasantly.  Susan,  listless  and  indif- 
ferent to  ])ieseiit  events,  and  never  ae- 
eusfotned  like  Meadows  to  act  upon  a 
jireeonceived  ])lan,  did  not  even  oh- 
serve  what  Meailows  had  jrained  by 
this  saerifiee  of  his  topic  for  a  single 
ni^dit,  viz.  that  after  deelarin;;  him- 
self her  lover  he  was  still  admitted  to 
the  house.  The  next  visit  he  was  not 
quite  so  forbearinj^,  yet  still  forbear- 
ing ;  and  so  on  by  sly  gradations.  It 
was  every  way  an  unequal  contest. 
A  great  man  against  an  average  wo- 
man,—  a  man  of  forty  against  a  wo- 
man of  twenty-two,  —  a  man  all  love 
and  selfishness  against  a  woman  all 
atfection  and  unselfishness.  But  I 
think  his  chief  ally  was  a  firm  belief 
on  Susan's  p:irt  that  he  was  the  best 
of  men  ;  that  from  first  to  last  of  this 
affair  his  conduct  had  been  perfection  ; 
that  while  George  was  true  all  his 
thought  had  been  to  console  her  grief 
at  his  absence  ;  that  he  never  would 
have  spoken  but  for  the  unexpected 
treason  of  George,  and  then  seeing 
her  insulted  and  despised  he  liad 
taken  that  moment  to  show  lier  she 
was  loved  and  honored.  O,  what  an 
nngrateful  girl  she  was  that  she  could 
not  love  such  a  man  ! 

Then  her  father  was  on  the  same 
side.  "John  Meadows  seems  down 
like,  Susan.  Do  try  and  cheer  him 
up  a  bit,  I  am  sure  he  has  ofien 
cheered  thee." 

"  That  he  has,  father." 

Susan  pitied  Meadows.  Pitying 
him  she  forced  herself  at  times  to  be 
gracious,  and  when  she  did  he  was  so 
h.i|»|)y  that  she  was  .alarmed  at  her 
j)<)wer,  and  drew  in. 

Old  Merton  saw  now  how  the  land 
lay,  and  he  clung  to  a  marriage  be- 
tween these  two  as  his  only  hope. 
"John  Meadows  will  pull  me  through, 
if  he  marries  my  Susan." 

And  so  the  two  selfish  one.s  had  got 
the  nn.selfish  one  between  them,  one 
]mlling    gently,   the    other    pushing 


quietly,  but  both  without  intermis- 
sion.     Thus  days  and  days  rolled  on. 

Meadows  now  came  four  times  a 
week  instead  of  two,  and  courted  her 
openly,  and  beamed  so  with  happi- 
ness that  she  Inid  not  always  the  heart 
to  rob  him  of  this  satisfaction,  and  he 
overwhelmed  her  with  kindne>s  and 
attention  of  every  sort,  and,  if  any 
one  else  was  ])resent,  she  was  sure  to 
see  how  much  he  was  respected  ;  and 
this  man  whom  others  courted  was 
her  slave.  This. soothed  the  pride  an- 
other had  wounded. 

One  day  he  poured  out  his  love  to 
her  with  such  passion  that  he  terrified 
her,  and  the  next  time  he  came  she 
avoided  him. 

iler  father  remonstrated  :  "  Girl, 
you  will  break  that  man's  heart  if  you 
are  So  unkind  to  him  ;  he  could  not 
say  a  word  because  you  shunned  him 
like.  Why,  your  heart  must  be  made 
of  stone."  A  burst  of  tears  was  all 
tiie  reply. 

At  last  two  things  presented  them- 
selves to  this  poor  girl's  understanil- 
ing ;  that  for  her  there  was  no  chance 
of  earthly  happiness,  do  what  she 
would,  and  that,  strangely  enough, 
she  the  wretched  one  liad  it  in  her 
power  to  make  two  other  beings  hap- 
py, her  father  and  good  Mr.  Mead- 
ows. 

Now,  a  true  woman  lives  to  make 
others  happy.  She  rarely  takes  the 
self-contained  views  of  life  men  arc 
apt  to  do. 

It  passed  through  Susan's  mind  : 
"  If  I  refuse  to  make  these  happy,  why 
do  I  live,  what  am  I  on  the  earth  for 
at  all  ?  " 

It  seemed  cruel  to  her  to  refuse 
happiness  when  she  could  bestow  it 
without  making  herself  two  shades 
more  miseral)le  than  she  was. 

Despair  and  unselfishness  are  evil 
counsellors  iu  a  scheming,  selfish 
world.  The  life-blood  had  been 
drained  out  of  her  heart  by  so  many 
cruel  blows,  by  the  long  waiting,  the 
misgivings,  tlie  deep  woe  when  she 
believed  Gior^^e  dead,  the  bitter  grief 
and  mortification  and  sense  of  wrong 


378 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE    TO   MEND." 


when  she  found  he  was  married  to  an- 
other. 

Many  of  us,  male  and  female,  treat- 
ed lis  Susan  imatrined  herself  treated, 
have  taken  another  lover  out  of  piqiif. 
Susan  did  not  so.  She  was  bitterly 
piqued,  hut  she  did  not  make  that  use 
of  her  pique. 

Despair  of  happiness,  pity,  and 
pure  unselfishness,  these  stood  John 
Meadows's  friends  with  his  unhappy 
dupe,  and  perhaps  my  male  readers 
will  be  incredulous  as  well  as  shocked 
when  I  relate  the  manner  in  which  at 
last  this  young  creature,  lovely  as  an 
angel,  in  the  spring  of  life,  loving  an- 
other still,  and  deluding  herself  to 
think  she  hated  and  despised  him,  was 
one  afternoon  surprised  into  giving 
her  hand  to  a  man  for  whom  she  did 
not  really  care  a  button. 

It  was  as  if  she  had  gaid  :  "  Is  it 
really  true  your  happiness  depends  on 
me  ?  then  take  me  —  quick  —  before 
my  courage  fails,  —  are  you  happy 
now,  my  poor  soul  ?  "  On  the  other 
side  there  were  the  passionate  plead- 
ings of  a  lover ;  the  deep,  manly  voice 
broken  with  supplication,  the  male 
eyes  glistening,  the  diabolical  mixture 
of  fraud  and  cunning  with  sincerity. 

At  the  first  symptom  of  yielding, 
the  man  seized  her  as  the  hawk  the 
dove  :  he  did  not  wait  for  a  second 
hint.  He  poured  out  gratitude  and 
protestations.  He  thanked  her,  and 
blessed  her,  and  in  his  manly  ardor 
caught  her  to  his  bosom. 

She  shut  her  eyes,  and  submitted  to 
the  caress  as  to  an  executioner. 

"  Pray  let  me  go  to  my  father,"  she 
whispered. 

She  came  to  her  father  and  told 
him  what  she  had  done,  and  kissed 
him,  and  when  he  kissed  her  in  re- 
turn, that  rare  embrace  seemed  to  her 
her  reward. 

Meadows  went  home  on  wings,  — 
he  was  in  a  whirlwind  of  joy  and  tri- 
umph. 

"  Aha  !  what  will  not  a  strong  will 
do  1  "  He  had  no  fears,  no  misgiv- 
ings. He  saw  she  did  not  really  like 
him  even,   but   he  would  make  her 


love  him  !  Let  him  once  get  her  in- 
to his  house  and  into  his  arms,  by  de- 
grees she  should  love  hiin  ;  —  av,  she 
should  adore  him  !  lie  held  that  a 
young  and  virtuous  woman  cantiot  re- 
sist the  husband  who  remains  a  lover, 
unless  he  is  a  lool  as  well  as  a  lover. 
She  could  resist  a  man,  but  hardly 
the  hearth,  the  marriage- bed,  the  sa- 
cred domestic  tics,  and  a  man  whose 
love  should  be  always  present,  always 
ardent,  yet  his  temper  always  cool, 
and  his  determination  to  be  loved  un- 
flinching. 

With  this  conviction.  Meadows  had 
committed  crimes  of  the  deepest  dye 
to  possess  Susan.  Villain  as  he  was, 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  he  would 
have  committed  these  felonies  had  he 
doubted  for  an  instant  her  ultimate 
hai>piness.  The  unconquerable  dog 
said  to  himself;  "  The  day  will  come 
that  I  will  tell  her  how  I  have  risked 
my  soul  for  her  ;  how  I  have  played 
the  villain  for  her ;  and  she  shall 
throw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and 
bless  me  for  committing  all  those 
crimes  to  make  her  so  happy  against 
her  will." 

It  remained  to  clinch  the  nail. 
He  came  to  Grassmere  every  day  ; 
and  one  night  that  the  old  man  was 
telling  Susan  and  him  how  badly 
things  were  going  with  him,  he  said, 
with  a  cheerful  laugh  :  "  I  wonder 
at  you,  father-in  law,  taking  on  that 
way.  Do  you  think  Susan  will  let 
you  be  uncomfortable^  for  want  of  a 
thousand  pounds  or  two  ?  " 

Now  this  remark  was  slyly  made 
while  Susan  was  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  so  that  she  could  hear  it, 
but  was  not  supposed  to.  He  did 
not  look  at  her  for  some  time,  and 
then  her  face  was  scarlet. 

The  next  day  he  said  privately  to 
old  Merton  :  *'  The  day  Susan  and  I 
go  to  church  together,  you  must  1  c 
me  take  your  cngaL'ements  and  do 
the  best  T  can  witli  them." 

"  Ah,  John,  you  are  a  friend  !  but 
it  will  take  a  pretty  deal  to  set  luo 
straitrht  again." 

"  Ilow  much  1     Two  thousand  ?  " 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEXD.' 


"More,  I  am  afraid,  and  too 
miK'li  —  " 

"  Too  much  for  me  to  take  out  of 
my  pocki't  for  a  stranjrcr ;  liut  not 
for  my  wife's  father,  —  not  if  it  was 
ten  times  that." 

From  that  hour  Meadows  h:id  an 
ally  at  Grassmerc,  workinj;  lieart  and 
soul  to  hasten  the  weddinj;-day. 

Meadows  lon<red  for  this  day  ;  for 
he  could  not  hide  from  himself  that  as 
a  lover  he  made  no  advances.  Susan's 
heart  was  like  a  p:lobo  of  ice ;  he 
could  jret  no  hold  of  it  anywhere.  He 
burned  witli  ra^e  when  the  bitter 
truth  was  forced  on  him,  that,  with 
the  topic  of  George  Fieldinfr,  he  had 
lost  those  bright,  animated  looks  of 
affection  siie  used  to  bestow  on  him, 
and  now  could  only  command  her  po- 
lite attention,  not  always  that.  Once 
he  ventured  on  a  remonstrance,  —  on- 
ly once. 

She  answered  coldly  that  she  could 
not  feign ;  indifferent  she  was  to 
everything  on  earth,  indifferent  she 
always  should  be.  But  for  that  in- 
difference she  should  never  have  con- 
sented to  marry  him.  Let  him  pause 
then,  and  think  what  he  was  doing, 
or,  better  still,  give  up  this  folly,  and 
not  tie  an  icicle  like  her  to  an  honest 
and  warm  heart  like  his. 

The  deep  Meadows  never  ventured 
on  that  ground  again.  He  feared  she 
wanted  to  be  off  the  marriage,  and  he 
determined  to  hurry  it  on.  He  pressed 
her  to  name  the  day.  She  would 
not. 

"  Would  she  let  him  name  it  1  "  — 
"No." 

Her  father  came  to  Meadows's  as- 
sistance. "  I'll  name  it,"  said  he.  — 
"  Father  !  no  !  no  !  " 

Old  Merton  then  made  a  pretence 
of  selecting  a  day.  Rejected  one  day 
for  one  reason,  another  for  another, 
and  pitched  on  a  day  only  six  weeks 
di-iant. 

Tlie  next  day  Meadows  bought 
the  license.  "  I  thought  you  would 
like  that  better  than  being  cried  in 
church,  Susan."  Susan  thanked  him 
and  said,  "  O  yes." 


That  evening  he  had  a  note  from 
her,  in  which  "  she  humbly  asked  his 
pardon,  but  she  could  not  marry  him  ; 
he  must  excuse  her.  She  trusted  to 
liis  generosity  to  let  the  matter  drop, 
and  forgive  a  poor  broken-iiearied 
girl,  who  had  behaved  ill  fr(mi  weak- 
ness of  judgment,  not  lightness  of 
heart." 

Two  days  after  this,  which  re- 
mained unanswered,  her  father  came 
to  her  in  great  agitation,  and  said  to 
her :  "  Have  you  a  mind  to  have  a 
man's  death  upon  your  conscience  1  " 
—  "  Father  !  " 

"  I  have  seen  John  Meadows,  and 
he  is  going  to  kill  himself  What 
sort  of  a  letter  was  that  to  write  to 
the  poor  man  ?  Says  he,  *  It  has 
come  on  me  like  a  tiiunder-clap.*  I 
saw  a  pistol  on  his  table,  and  he  told 
me  he  would  u't  give  a  button  to  live. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself 
trifling  witii  folks'  hearts  so."  —  "I 
trifle  with  folks'  hearts  !  Oh  !  what 
shall  I  do !  "  cried  Susan. 

"  Think  of  others  as  well  as  your- 
self," replied  the  old  man,  in  a  rage. 
"Think  of  me." — "Of  you,  dear 
father  ?  Does  not  your  Susan  think 
of  you  ?  "  —  "  No  !  what  will  become 
of  me  if  the  man  kills  himself?  He 
is  all  I  have  to  look  to,  to  save  me 
from  ruin."  —  "What,  then "?"  cried 
Susan,  coloring  scarlet,  "  it  is  not  his 
life  you  care  for,  it  is  his  means  of 
being  useful  to  us  !  Poor  Mr.  Mead- 
ows !  He  has  no  friend  but  me.  I 
will  give  you  a  line  to  him."  The 
line  contained  these  words  :  "  Forgive 
me." 

Half  an  hour  after  receipt  of  it 
Meadows  was  at  the  farm.  Susan 
was  going  to  make  some  faint  apol- 
ogy. He  stopped  her  and  said  :  "  I 
know  you  like  to  make  folk  happy. 
I  have  got  a  job  for  you.  A  gentle- 
man, a  friend  of  mine  in  Cheshire, 
wants  a  bailiff.  He  has  wriiten  to 
me.  A  word  from  me  will  do  the 
business.  Now  is  there  any  one  you 
would  like  to  oblige  f  The  place  is 
worth  five  hundred  a  year."  Susan 
was  grateful  to  him  for  waiving  dis- 


380 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO   MEND." 


agcreeable  topics.  She  reflected  and) 
said  :  "  Ah  !  but  he  is  no  friend  of. 
yours."  / 

"  What  does  that  matter,  if  he 
is  yours  1  "  — "Will  Fielding."  — 
"  With  all  my  heart.  Only  my  name 
must  not  be  mentioned.  You  are 
right.  He  can  marry  on  this.  They 
would  both  have  starved  in  '  The 
Grove.'  " 

Thus  he  made  the  benevolent  girl 
taste  the  sweets  of  power.  "  You 
will  be  asked  to  do  many  a  kind  ac- 
tion like  this  when  you  are  Mrs. 
Meadows."  So  he  bribed  father  and 
daughter  each  after  their  kind. 

The  offer  came  in  form  from  the 
gentleman  to  Will  Fielding.  He  and 
Miss  Holiday  had  already  been  cried 
in  church.  They  were  married,  and 
went  off  to  Cheshire. 

So  Meadows  got  rid  of  Will  Field- 
ing at  a  crisis.  When  it  suited  his 
strategy  he  made  his  enemy's  fortune 
with  as  little  compunction  as  he 
would  have  ruined  him.  A  man  of 
iron  !  Cold  iron,  hot  iron,  whatever 
iron  was  wanted. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fielding  gone  off  to 
Cheshire,  and  Mrs.  Holiday  after 
them  on  a  visit  of  domestic  instruc- 
tion, Meadows  publicly  announced 
his  approaching  marriage  with  Miss 
Merton.  The  coast  being  clear,  he 
clinched  the  last  nail.  From  this  day 
there  were  gusts  of  repugnance,  but 
not  a  shadow  of  resistance,  on  Susan's 
side.     It  w;is  to  be. 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  every 
evening  this  man  and  woman  walked 
together.  The  woman  envied  by  all 
the  women  ;  the  man  by  all  the  men. 
Yet  they  walked  side  by  side  like 
the  ghosts  of  lovers.  And,  since  he 
was  her  betrothed,  one  or  two  iron- 
gray  hairs  in  the  man's  head  had 
turned  white,  and  lines  deepened  in  his 
face.  The  victim  had  unwittingly 
revenged  herself. 

He  had  stabbed  her  heart  again 
and  again,  and  drained  it.  He  had 
battered  this  poor  lieart  till  it  had  l)e- 
come  more  like  leather  than  flesh  and 
blood,  and  now  he  wanted  to  nestle 


in  it  and  be  warmed  by  it :  to  kill  the 
affections  and  revive  them  at  will 
No ! ! ! ! 

She  tried  to  give  happiness  and  to 
avoid  giving  pain,  but  her  heart  of 
hearts  was  inaccessible.  The  town 
had  capitulated,  but  the  citadel  was 
emt)ty  yet  imi)regnable :  and  there 
were  moments  when  flashes  of  hate 
mingled  with  the  steady  flame  of  this 
unhappy  man's  love,  and  he  was 
tempted  to  kill  her  and  himself 

But  these  weaknesses  passed  like 
air,  the  iron  purpose  stood  firm.  This 
day  week  they  were  to  be  married. 
Meadows  counted  the  days  and  exult- 
ed ;  he  had  faith  in  the  magic  ring. 
It  was  on  this  Monday  evening  then 
they  walked  arm  in  arm  in  the  field, 
and  it  so  ha|»pened  that  Meadows 
waij  not  speaking  of  love,  but  of  a 
scheme  for  making  all  the  poor  peo- 
ple in  Grassmere  comfortable,  es- 
l>ecially  of  keeping  the  rain  out  of 
their  roofs  and  the  wind  out  of  what 
they  vulgarly,  but  not  unreasonably, 
called  their  windys,  and  Susan's  color 
was  rising  and  her  eyes  brightening  at 
this  the  one  interesting  side  marriage 
offered,  —  to  make  peopJe  happy  near 
her  and  round  about  her,  and  she  cast 
a  look  of  gratitude  upon  her  compan- 
ion, —  a  look  that,  coming  from  so 
lovely  a  face,  might  very  well  pass  for 
love.  While  thus  pleasantly  em- 
ployed the  pair  suddenly  encountered 
a  form  in  a  long  bristling  beard,  who 
peered  into  their  faces  with  a  singular 
expression  of  strange  and  wild  curi- 
osity and  anxiety,  but  did  not  stop  ; 
he  was  making  towards  Farnborongh. 

Susan  was  a  little  startled.  "  Who 
is  that  ?  "  —  "I  don't  know."  —  "  He 
looked  as  if  he  knew  us."  —  "A  trav- 
eller, I  think,  dearest.  The  folk  here- 
abouts have  not  got  to  wear  those  long 
beards  yet." 

"  Why  did  you  start  when  he 
passed  us  ?  "  —  "  Did  I  start,  Su- 
san ?  "  —  "  Your  arm  twir<-he(l  me." 

"  Yon  nuist  have  fancied  it,"  re- 
plied Meadows,  with  a  sickly  smile ; 
"  but  come,  Susan,  t!ie  dew  is  falling, 
you  had  better  make  towards  home." 


T   IS  NEVEli   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND. 


381 


He  saw  her  safe  home,  then,  instead 
f)f  wviitiii;;  U)  sii|t]H'r  as  usual,  j;ot  his 
horse  out  and  rode  to  the  town  full 
pallop.  "  Any  one  heen  here  for 
tne  f  "  —  "  Yes!astran<:er."  —  "  With 
a  long  heard?"  —  "Why,  yes,  he 
had.''  —  "He  will  eonie  again?"  — 
"  In  half  an  hour."  —  "  Show  him 
into  my  room  when  he  comes,  and  ad- 
mit no  one  else." 

Meadows  was  hardly  seated  in  his 
study  and  his  candle.s  lighted,  when 
the  servant  ushered  in  his  visitor. 

"  Shut  both  the  doors,  and  you  can 
go  to  bed.  I  will  let  Mr.  Richards 
out." 

"  Well  ?  "  —  "  Well,  we  have  done 
the  trick  between  us,  eh  ?  " 

"  What  made  you  come  home  with- 
out orders  ?  "  asked  Meadows,  some- 
what steridy. —  "Why,  you  know  as 
well  as  me,  sir;  you  have  seen 
them  ?  " 

"  Who  1 "  —  "  George  Fielding  and 
his  mate." 

Meadows  started.  "  How  should  I 
see  them  ?  "  —  "  Sir  !  Why,  they  are 
come  home.  They  gave  me  tlie  slip, 
and  got  away  before  me.  I  followed 
them.  They  are  htre.  They  must  be 
here."  Crawlt'y,  not  noticing  Mead- 
ows's  face,  went  on.  "  Sir,  when  I 
found  tln'y  had  slipped  out  of  the  camp 
on  horseback,  and  down  to  Sydney, 
and  saw  them  with  my  own  eyes  go  out 
of  the  harbor  for  England,  I  thought  I 
should  have  died  on  the  spot.  I  thought 
I  should  never  have  the  coura^re  to  face 
you,  but  when  I  met  you  arm  in  arm, 
her  eye  smiling  on  you,  I  knew  it  was 
all  right  then.  Whi-n  did  the  event 
come  oHP  ?  "  —  "  What  event  ?  "  — 
"  The  marriage,  sir,  —  you  and  the 
lady.  She  is  worth  all  the  trouble  she 
has  given  us." 

"  You  f<K)I,"  roared  Meadows,  "we 
are  not  married.  The  wedding  is  to 
be  thi-:  day  week  !  "  Crawley  start- 
ed and  ga-ped,  "  We  are  ruined,  we 
are  undone  !  " 

"  Hold  your  bawling,"  cried  iMead- 
ows,  fiercely,  "  ar.d  let  me  think." 
He  i)uried  his  face  in  his  hands  ;  when 
he  removed  them,  he  was  gloomy  l)ut 


self-possessed.  "  They  are  not  in  Eng- 
land, (^rawley,  or  we  slioiild  h  ive  seen 
them.  They  are  on  the  road.  You 
sailed  faster  than  tliey  ;  passed  them 
at  night,  perhaps.  Tiiey  will  soon  be 
here.  My  own  heart  tells  me  they 
will  be  here  before  Monday.  Well, 
I  will  beat  ihem  still.  I  will  be  mar- 
ried Thursday  next."  The  iron  man 
then  turned  to  Crawley,  and  sternly 
demanded  how  he  had  let  the  man 
slip. 

Crawley  related  all,  and  as  he  told 
his  tale  the  tone  of  Meadows  altered. 
He  no  longer  doubted  the  zeal  of  hU 
hireling.  He  laid  his  hand  on  his 
brow  and  more  than  once  he  groaned 
and  muttered  half-articulate  expres- 
sions of  repugnance.  At  the  conclu- 
sion he  said  moodily  :  "  Crawley,  yon 
have  served  me  well,  —  too  well !  All 
the  women  upon  earth  were  not  worth 
a  murder,  and  we  have  been  on  the 
brink  of  several.  You  went  beyond 
your  instructions." 

"No,  I  did  not,"  replied  Crawley; 
"  I  have  got  them  in  my  pocket.  I 
will  read  them  to  you.  See  !  there  is 
no  discretion  allowed  me.  I  was  to 
bribe  them  to  rob." 

"  Where  do  I  countenance  the  use 
of  deadly  weapons  ?  "  —  "  Where  is 
there  a  word  against  deadly  weap- 
ons ?  "  asked  Crawley,  sharply.  "  Be 
just  to  me,  sir,"  he  added  in  a  more 
whining  tone.  "  You  know  you  are 
a  man  that  must  and  will  be  olx'yed. 
You  sent  me  to  Australia  to  do  a  cer- 
tain thing,  and  you  wouM  have  flung 
me  to  perdition  if  I  had  stuck  at  any- 
thing to  do  it.  Well,  sir,  I  tried  skill 
without  force  —  look  here,"  and  he 
placed  a  small  substance  like  white 
sugar  f)n  the  table. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  — "  Put  that  in  a 
man's  glass  he  will  never  taste  it,  and 
in  half  an  hour  he  will  sleep  you 
might  take 'the  clothes  off  his  back. 
Three  of  us  Avatfhed  months  and 
months  for  a  chance,  but  it  was  no 
go ;  those  two  were  teetotid  or  next 
door  it." 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  ^ent  you  out." 
—  "Why,"   replied   Crawley,    "there 


182 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


is  no  harm  done,  no  blood  has  been 
spilt  except  on  our  own  side.  Georjje 
Fioldin:^  is  coining  home  all  right. 
Give  him  up  the  Uidy,  and  he  will 
never  know  you  were  his  enemy." 

"  What !  "  cried  Meadows,  "  wade 
through  all  these  crimes  for  nothing? 
Lie  and  feign,  and  intercept  letters, 
and  rob  and  all  but  assassinate,  —  and 
fail  ?  Wade  in  crime  up  to  my  mid- 
dle, and  then  wade  back  again  with- 
out the  prize!  Do  you  see  this  pis- 
tol ?  it  has  two  barrels ;  if  she  and  I 
are  ever  parted  it  shall  be  this  way, 
—  I'll  send  her  to  heaven  with  one 
barrel,  and  myself  to  hell  with  the 
other." 

There  was  a  dead  silence !  Craw- 
ley returned  to  tli.'ir  old  relation,  and 
was  cowed  by  the  natural  ascendency 
of  the  greater  spirit. 

"  You  need  not  look  like  a  girl  at 
me,"  said  Meadows,  "  most  likely  it 
won't  come  to  that.  It  is  not  ea^y  to 
heat  me,  and  I  shall  try  every  move 
man's  wit  can  device,  —  this  last," 
said  he,  in  a  voice  of  iron,  touching 
the  pistol  as  it  lay  on  the  table. 

There  was  anotlier  pause.  Then 
^leadows  rose  and  said  calmly :  "  You 
look  tired,  you  shall  have  a  bottle  of 
my  old  port;  and  my  own  heart  is 
staggered,  but  it  is  only  for  a  moment. 
He  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 
and  walked  slowly  from  the  room. 
And  Crawley  heard  his  step  descend 
to  the  hall,  and  then  to  the  cellar ; 
and  the  indomitable  character  of  the 
m;in  rang  m  his  solid  tread. 

Crawley  was  uneasy.  "  Mr.  Mead- 
ows is  getting  wildish ;  it  frightens 
me  to  sec  such  a  man  as  him  burst 
out  like  that.  He  is  not  to  be  trusted 
with  a  loaded  pistol.  Ah  !  and  I  am 
in  his  secrets,  deep  in  his  secrets; 
great  men  sweep  away  little  folk  that 
know  too  much.  I  never  saw  him 
with  a  pistol  before."  All  this  pass- 
ing rapidly  through  his  head,  (^raw- 
1  y  i)onncc!l  on  the  pistol,  took  o(F  the 
c.ips,  whipped  out  a  little  bottle,  and 
]i  )ured  some  srroiig  stuff  into  the  caps 
that  loosened  the  detonating  powder 
directly;    then   with   a  steel   pen  he 


picked  it  all  out  and  replaced  the  caps, 
their  virtue  gone,  before  Mr.  Meadows 
returned  with  two  bottles ;  and  the 
confederates  sat  in  close  conclave  till 
the  gray  of  morning  broke  into  the 
room. 

The  great  man  gave  but  few  orders 
to  his  subordinate,  for  this  simple 
reason,  that  the  game  had  fallen  into 
his  own  hands. 

Still  there  was  something  for  Craw- 
ley to  do.  He  was  to  have  an  officer 
watching  to  arrest  Will  Fielding  on 
the  old  judgment  should  he,  which 
was  hardly  to  be  expected,  come  to 
kick  up  a  row  and  interrupt  the  wed- 
ding. And  to-morrow  he  was  to  take 
out  a  writ  against  his  "  father-in-law." 
Mr.  Meadows  played  a  close  game. 
He  knew  that  things  are  not  to  be 
got  when  they  are  wanted.  His  plan 
was  to  have  everything  ready  that 
might  be  wanted  long  before  it  was 
wanted. 

But  most  of  the  night  passed  in  re- 
lation of  what  had  already  taken  place, 
and  Crawley  was  the  chief  speaker, 
and  magnified  his  services.  He  re- 
lated from  his  own  point  of  view  all 
that  I  have  told,  and  Meadows  lis- 
tened with  all  his  soul  and  intelli- 
gence. 

At  the  attack  on.  Mr.  Levi,  INIead- 
ows  chuckled.  "  The  old  heathen," 
said  he,  contemptuously,  "  I  have  beat 
him  anyway." 

"  By  the  way,  sir,  haA'e  you  seen 
anything  of  him?  "  asked  Crawley.  — 
"  Xo." 

"He  is  not  come  home  then."  — 
"Not  that  I  know  of;  have  you  any 
reason  to  think  he  has  l  " 

"  No,  only  he  left  the  mine  directly 
after  they  pelted  him,  but  he  would 
not  leave  the  country  any  the  more 
for  that,  and  money  to  be  made  in  it 
by  handfuls." 

"  Now,  Crawley,  go  and  get  some 
sleep.  A  cold  bath  for  me  and  then 
on  horseback.  I  must  breakfast  at 
Grassinere." 

"  Great  man,  sir  !  great  man  !  You 
will  beat  them  yet,  sir.  You  have 
beat  Mr.  Levi.     Here  we  ?'-e  in  his 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


383 


house  ;  and  he  driven  away  to  hiy  hi.s 
slv  old  l)oiies  at  the  Antipodes,  llu! 
ha  !   Iia  !  " 

T'he  sun  camo  in  at  the  window, 
and  the  long  conference  hroke  uj),  and, 
stranjjce  to  say,  it  broke  into  three. 
Crawley  home  to  sleep.  Meadows  to 
Grassmere.  Isaac  Levi  to  smoke  an 
Eastern  pipe,  and  so  meditate  with 
more  tranquil  pulse  how  to  strike  with 
deadliest  etfeet  these  two,  his  insolent 
enemies. 

6V5<e  viator,  —  and  guess  that  rid- 
dle. 

— ♦— 

CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

Isaac  Levi,  rescued  by  George 
Fielding,  reached  his  tent  smarting 
•with  pain  and  bitter  insult ;  lie  sat  on 
the  floor  pale  and  dusty,  and  anathe- 
tnatized  his  adversaries  in  the  Helirew 
tongue.  Wrath  still  boiling  iu  his 
heart,  he  drew  out  iiis  letters  and  read 
them.  Then  grief  mingled  with  his 
anger.  Old  Cohen,  his  friend  and 
agent  and  coeval,  was  dead.  Another 
self  dead. 

Besides  the  hint  that  this  gave  him 
to  set  his  house  in  order,  a  distinct 
consideration  drew  Isaac  now  to  Eng- 
land. He  had  trusted  much  larger 
inti'rests  to  old  Cohen  than  he  was  at 
all  disposed  to  leave  in  the  hands  of 
Cohen's  successors,  men  of  another 
generation,  "progeniem  vitiosiorem," 
he  sincerely  believed. 

Another  letter  gave  him  some  in- 
formation about  Meadows  that  added 
another  uneasiness  to  those  he  already 
felt  on  George's  account.  Hence  his 
bitter  disappointment  when  he  found 
(Tt'ovge  L'one  from  the  mine,  the  date 
of  his  return  uncertain.  Hence,  too, 
the  ])nrchase  of  Moore's  horse-;,  and 
the  ini])loring  letter  to  Georire,  —  meas- 
ures that  proved  invaluable  to  that 
young  man,  whose  primitive  siiuplici- 
ity  and  wise  humility  led  him  not  to 
question  the  advice  of  his  elder,  but 
obey  it. 

And  so  it  was  that,  although  the 
old  Jew  sailed  home   upon   his  own 


interests,  yet  during  the  voyage 
George  Fielding's  assumed  a  great 
importance,  direct  and  incidental. 
Direct,  i)ecause  the  old  man  wits 
warm  with  gratitude  to  him  ;  indiicct, 
because  he  boiled  over  with  hate  of 
George's  most  dangerous  enemy. 
And,  as  he  neared  the  English  coast, 
the  thought  that  though  he  was  com- 
ing to  Farnborough  he  could  not 
come  home,  grew  bitterer  aiul  bit- 
terer, and  then  that  he  should  find 
his  enemy  and  his  insuher  in  the  very 
house  sacred  by  the  shadows  of  the 
beloved  and  dead  !  ! 

Finding  in  Nathan  a  youth  of  no 
common  fi<lelity  and  shrewdness, 
Isaac  contided  in  him  ;  and  Nathan, 
proud  beyond  description  of  the  con- 
ridence  bestowed  on  him  by  one  so 
honored  in  his  tribe,  enlisted  in  his 
cause  with  all  the  ardor  of  youth  tem- 
pered by  Jewish  address. 

Often  they  sat  together  on  the  deck, 
and  the  young  Jewish  brain  and  the 
old  Jewish  brain  mingled  and  digested 
a  course  of  conduct  to  meet  every  im- 
aginable contingency ;  for  the  facts 
they  at  present  possessed  were  only 
general  and  vague. 

The  first  result  of  all  this  was,  that 
these  two  crept  into  the  town  of  Farn- 
borouirh  at  three  o'clock  one  morning  ; 
that  Isaac  took  out  a  key  and  un- 
locked the  house  that  stood  next  to 
Meadows's  on  the  left  harul ;  that 
Isaac  took  secret  possession  of  the 
first  floor,  and  Nathan  open  but  not 
ostentatious  possession  of  the  ground- 
floor,  with  a  tale  skilfully  concocted 
to  excite  no  suspicion  whatever  that 
Isaac  was  in  any  way  connected  with 
his  ])resence  Jn  "the  town.  Nathan,  it 
is  to  be  observed,  had  never  been  in 
Farnborough  before. 

The  next  morning  they  worked. 
Nathan  went  out,  locking  the  door 
after  him,  to  execute  two  commis- 
sions. He  was  to  find  out  what  the 
vonng  Cohens  were  doing,  and  how 
fir  they  were  likely  to  prove  worthy 
of  the  trust  reposed  in  their  father; 
and  what  Susan  Merton  wjis  doing, 
and  whether   Meailows  was  courting 


384 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


her  or  not.  The  latter  part  of  Na- 
than's task  was  tcrrif)lj  easy. 

The  young'  man  came  home  late  at 
nif^ht,  locked  tlie  door,  made  a  con- 
certed signal,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
eenior  presence.  He  found  liiin  smok- 
ing his  Eastern  pipe.  Nathan  witli 
dejected  air  told  him  that  he  had 
good  news ;  that  the  Cohens  not  only 
thought  themselves  wiser  than  their 
father,  which  was  permissible,  but 
opeidy  declared  it,  which  he,  though 
young,  had  ol)served  to  be  a  trait  con- 
tined  to  very  great  fools. 

"It  is  well  said,  my  son,"  quoth 
Isaac,  smoking  calmly,  —  "  and  the 
other  busine.-<s  ?  "  —  "  O  master  !  " 
said  Nathan,  '*  I  bring  still  worse  tid- 
ings of  her.  She  is  a  true  Naxaritc, 
a  creature  without  faith.  She  is  be- 
trothed to  the  man  you  hate,  and 
whom  I,  for  your  sake,  hate  even  to 
death." 

They  spoke  in  an  Eastern  dialect, 
which  I  am  paraphrasing  here  and 
translating  there,  according  to  the 
measure  of  my  humble  abilities. 
Isaac  sucked  his  pipe  very  fast ;  this 
news  was  a  double  blow  to  his  feel- 
ings, "  If  she  be  indeed  a  Nazarite 
Avithout  faith,  let  her  go  ;  but  judge 
not  the  simple  hastily.  First,  let  me 
know  how  far  woman's  frailty  is  to 
blame;  how  far  man's  guile, — for 
not  for  nothing  was  Crawley  sent  out 
to  the  mine  by  Meadows.  Let  mc 
consider "  ;  and  he  smoked  calmly 
again. 

After  a  long  silence,  which  Nathan 
was  too  respectful  to  break,  the  o!d 
man  gave  him  his  commission  for  to- 
morrow. He  was  to  try  and  discover 
why  Susan  Merton  had  written  no 
letters  for  many  months*to  George; 
and  why  she  had  betrothed  herself  to 
tlie  foe.  "  But  reveal  nothing  in  re- 
turn," said  Isaac,  "  neither  ask  more 
than  three  questions  of  any  one  person, 
lest,  they  say,  '  Who  is  this  that  being 
0  Jew  asks"  many  questions  about  a 
Nizarif'  maiden,  and  why  asks  he 
t'.wm'l'" 

At  night  Nathan  returned  full  of 
intelligence.      She   loved   the  young 


man  Fielding.  She  wrote  letters  to 
him  and  received  letters  from  him, 
until  gold  was  found  in  Australia. 
But  after  this  he  wrote  to  her  no 
more  letters,  wherefore  her  heart  was 
troubled. 

"  Ah  !  and  did  she  write  to  him  ?  " 
—  "  Yes  !  but  received  no  answer, 
nor  any  letter  for  many  months."  — 
"  Ah  !  "  —  (pulf !)  (puHF !)  —  "  Then 
came  a  rumor  that  he  was  dead,  and 
she  mourned  for  him  after  the  maimer 
of  her  people  many  days.  Verily, 
master,  I  am  vexed  for  the  Nazarite 
maiden,  for  her  tale  is  sad.  Then 
came  a  letter  from  Australia,  that 
said  he  is  not  dead,  but  married  to  a 
stranger.  Then  the  maiden  said  : 
*  Behold  now  this  twelve  months  he 
writes  not  to  me,  this  then  is  true'; 
and  she  bowed  her  head,  and  the  col- 
or left  her  cheek.  Then  this  Mead- 
ows visited  her,  and  consoled  her  day 
by  day.  And  there  are  those  who 
confidently  affirm  that  her  father  said 
often  to  her,  'Behold  now  I  am  a 
man  stricken  in  years,  and  the  man 
Meadows  is  rich ' ;  so  the  maiden 
gave  her  hand  to  the  man,  but  wheth- 
er to  please  the  old  man  her  father,  or 
out  of  the  folly  and  weakness  of  fe- 
males, thou  O  Isaac  son  of  Shadrach 
shalt  determine ;  seeing  that  I  am 
young,  and  little  versed  in  the  ways 
of  women,  knowing  this  only  by  uni- 
versal report,  that  they  are  fair  to  the 
eye  but  often  bitter  to  the  taste." 

"  Aha ! "  cried  Isaac,  "  but  I  am 
old,  O  Nathan  son  of  Eli,  and  with 
the  thorns  of  old  age  comes  one  gooel 
fruit,  '  experience.'  No  letters  came 
to  him,  yet  she  wrote  many.  None 
came  to  her,  yet  he  wrote  many.  All 
this  is  transparent  as  glass,  —  here 
has  been  fv^iud  as  well  as  guile." 

Nathan's  eye  sparkled.  "  What  is 
the  fraud,  ma'ster  ?  "  —  "  Nay,  that  I 
know  not,  but  I  will  know  !  " 

"  But  how,  master  ?  " —  "  By  help 
of  thine  ears,  or  my  own  !  " 

Nathan  looked  puzzled.  So  long 
as  ]Mr.  Levi  sliut  liimself  up  a  clo.'-c 
prisoner  on  a  lir.-t  lloor  what  could  ho 
hear  for  himself? 


IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


385 


Isaac  read  the  look  and  smiled.  Tic 
theti  rose,  and,  jmttiu<j;  his  Hnj^er  to  his 
hps,  led  I  lie  way  to  his  own  apart- 
ments. At  liie  staircase-door,  wliieh 
even  Nathan  had  not  yet  passed,  he 
bade  the  youiijj:  man  take  off  his 
shoes ;  he  himself  was  in  slijjpers. 
lie  took  Nathan  into  a  room,  the 
floor  of  whieh  was  entirely  covered 
with  mattresses.  A  staircase,  the 
steps  of  which  were  covered  with 
horsehair,  went  by  a  tolerably  easy 
slope  and  spiral  movement  nearly  up 
to  the  cornice.  Of  this  cornice  a  por- 
tion a!)out  a  foot  square  swung  back 
on  a  well-oiled  liinge,  and  Isaac  drew 
out  from  the  wall  with  the  utmost 
caution  a  piece  of  t;utta-percha  pipinj;, 
to  this  he  screwed  on  another  piece 
open  at  the  end,  and  applied  it  to  his 
ear. 

Nathan  comprehended  it  all  in  a 
moment.  His  master  could  overhear 
every  word  uttered  in  Meadows's 
study.  Levi  explained  to  him  that 
ere  he  left  his  old  house  he  had  put  a 
new  cornice  in  the  room  he  thought 
Meadows  would  sit  in,  a  cornice  so 
deeply  ornamented  that  no  one  could 
see  the  ear  he  left  in  it,  and  had  taken 
out  bricks  in  the  wall  of  the  adjoining 
house  and  made  the  other  arrange- 
ments they  were  inspecting  together. 
Mr.  Levi  further  explained  that  his  ob- 
ject was  simply  to  overhear  and  coun- 
teract every  scheme  Meadows  should 
form.  He  added  that  he  never  intended 
to  leave  Farn borough  for  long.  His 
intention  had  been  to  establish  certain 
relations  in  that  country,  buy  some 
land,  and  return  immediately  ;  but  the 
gold  discovery  had  detained  him. 

"But,  master,"  said  Nathan,  "sup- 
pose the  man  had  taken  his  business 
to  the  other  side  of  his  house?"  — 
"  t\»olish  youth,"  replied  Isaac,  "am 
I  not  on  both  sides  of  him  ! ! !  " 

"  Ah  !  What,  is  there  another  on 
the  other?"  Isaac  nodded. 

Thus,  while  Nathan  was  collecting 
facts,  Isaac  had  been  watching,  "  pa- 
dent  as  a  cat,  keen  as  a  lynx,"  at  his 
ear-liole,  and  heard  —  nothing. 

Now  the  next  day  Nathan  came  in 
17 


hastily  long  before  the  usual  hour. 
"  Master,  another  enemy  is  come,  — 
the  m;in  Crawley!  I  saw  him  from 
the  window  ;  he  saw  not  me.  What 
shall  I  do?"  —  "  Keep  the  house  all 
day.  I  would  not  have  him  see  you. 
He  would  say,  *  Aha  !  the  old  Jew  is 
here  too.'"  Nathan's  countenance 
fell.  Ho  was  a  prisoner  now  as  well 
as  his  master. 

The  next  morning  rising  early  to 
prepare  their  food,  he  was  surprised 
to  tind  the  old  man  smoking  his  pipe 
down  below. 

"  All  is  well,  my  son.  My  turn  has 
come.  I  have  had  great  patience,  and 
great  is  the  reward."  He  then  told 
him  with  natural  exultation  the  long 
conference  he  had  been  secretly  pres- 
ent at  between  Crawley  and  Mead- 
ows,—  a  conference  in  which  the  ene- 
my had  laid  bare,  not  his  guilt  only, 
but  the  secret  crevice  m  his  coat  of 
mail.  "  She  loves  him  not  I  "  cried 
Levi,  with  exultation.  "  She  is  his 
dupe!  With  a  word  I  can  separate 
them  and  confound  him  utterly."  — 
"O  master!"  cried  the  youth,  ea- 
gerly, "  speak  that  word  to-day,  and 
let  me  be  there  and  hear  it  spoken  if  I 
have  favor  in  your  eyes." 

"  Speak  it  to-day  !  "  cried  Levi,  with 
a  look  of  intense  surprise  at  Nathan's 
simplicity.  "Go  to,  foolish  youth!" 
said  he ;  "  what,  after  I  have  waited 
months  and  months  for  vengeance, 
would  you  have  me  fritter  it  away  for 
want  of  waiting  a  day  or  two  longer? 
No,  I  will  strike,  not  the  empty  cup 
from  his  hand,  but  the  full  cup  from 
his  lips.  Aha !  you  have  seen  the 
Jew  insulted  and  despised  in  many 
lands ;  have  patience  now  and  you 
shall  see  how  he  can  give  blow  for 
blow ;  ay !  old,  and  feeble,  arid  with- 
out a  weapon,  can  strike  his  adversary 
to  the  heart." 

Nathan's  black  eye  flashed.  "  You 
are  the  master,  I  the  scholar,"  said  he. 
"  All  I  ask  is  to  be  permitted  to  share 
the  watching  for  your  enemy's  words, 
since  I  may  not  go  abroad  while  it  is 
day." 

Thus  the  old  and  young  lynx  lay 


386 


IT  IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


in  ambush  all  day.  And  at  night  the 
young  lynx  prowled,  but  warily,  lest 
Crawley  should  sec  him  ;  and  every 
night  brought  home  some  scrap  of  in- 
telligence. 

To  change  the  metaphor,  it  was  as 
though  while  the  "Western  spider  wove 
his  artful  web  round  the  innocent  fly, 
the  Oriental  spider  wove  another  web 
round  him,  the  threads  of  which  were 
so  subtle  as  to  be  altogether  invisible. 
Both  East  and  West  leaned  with  sub- 
lime faith  on  their  respective  gossa- 
mers, nor  remembered  that  "  Dieu  dis- 
pose." 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

Meadows  rode  to  Grassmere,  to 
try  and  prevail  with  Susan  to  be  mar- 
ried on  Thursday  next,  instead  of 
Monday.  As  he  rode  he  revolved 
every  argument  he  could  think  of  to 
gain  her  compliance.  He  felt  sure 
she  was  more  inclined  to  postpone  the 
day  than  to  advance  it,  but  something 
told  him  his  late  hung  on  this  : 
"  These  two  men  will  come  home  on 
Monday.  I  am  sure  of  it.  Ay, 
Monday  morning,  before  we  can  wed. 
I  will  not  throw  a  chance  away ;  the 
game  is  too  close."  Then  he  remem- 
bered with  dismay  that  Susan  had 
been  irritable  and  snappish  just  be- 
fore parting  yester  eve,  —  a  trait  she 
had  never  exhibited  to  him  before. 
When  he  arrived,  his  heart  almost 
failed  him,  but  after  some  little  cir- 
cumlocution and  excuse  he  revealed 
the  favor,  the  great  favor,  he  was 
come  to  ask.  He  asked  it.  She 
granted  it  without  the  shade  of  a  de- 
mur. He  was  no  less  surprised  than 
delighted,  but  the  truth  is  that  very 
irritation  and  snappishness  of  yester- 
day was  the  cause  of  her  consenting  ; 
her  conscience  told  her  she  had  been 
unkind,  and  he  had  been  too  wise  to 
snaj)  in  return.  So  now  he  benefited 
by  the  reaction  and  little  bit  of  self-re- 
proach. For  do  but  abstain  from 
reproaching  a  good  girl  who  has  been 
unjust  or  unkind  to  you,  and  ten  to 


I  one  if  she  docs  not  make  you  the 
nm&ide  by  word  or  deed,  —  most 
;  likely  the  latter,  for  so  she  can  soothe 
j  her  tender  conscience  without  grazing 
1  her  equally  sensitive  pride.  Poor  Su- 
'  san  little  knew  the  importance  of  the 
concession  she  made  so  easily. 

Meadows  galloped  home  trium- 
phant. But  two  whole  days  now  be- 
tween him  and  his  bliss  !  And  that 
day  passed  and  Tuesday  passed.  The 
man  lived  three  days  and  nights  in 
a  state  of  tension  that  would  have 
killed  some  of  us  or  driven  us  mad  ; 
but  his  intrepid  spirit  rode  the  billows 
of  hope  and  fear  like  a  petrel.  And 
the  day  before  the  wedding  it  did  seem 
as  if  his  adverse  fate  got  suddenly 
alarmed  and  made  a  desperate  effort 
and  hurled  against  him  every  assail- 
ant that  could  be  found.  In  the 
morning  came  his  mother,  and  im- 
plored him  ere  it  was  too  late  to  give 
up  this  marriage.  "  I  have  kept  si- 
lence, yea  even  from  good  words," 
said  the  aged  woman  ;  "  but  at  last  I 
must  speak.  John,  she  does  not  love 
you.  I  am  a  woman  and  can  read  a 
woman's  heart ;  and  you  fancied  her 
long  before  George  Fielding  was  false 
to  her,  if  false  he  ever  was,  John." 

The  old  woman  said  the  whole  of 
this  last  sentence  with  so  much  mean- 
ing that  her  son  was  stung  to  rage, 
and  interrupted  her  fiercely  :  "  I 
looked  to  find  all  the  world  against 
me,  but  not  my  own  mother.  No  mat- 
ter, so  be  it ;  the  whole  world  sha'  n't 
turn  me,  and  those  I  don't  care  to 
fight  I  '11  fly." 

And  he  turned  savagely  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  old  Avoman  there  shocked 
and  terrified  by  his  vehemence.  She 
did  not  stay  there  long.  Soon  the 
scarlet  cloak  and  black  bonnet  might 
have  been  seen  wending  their  way 
slowly  back  to  the  little  cottage,  the 
poor  old  tidy  bonnet  drooping  lower 
than  it  was  wont.  INIeadows  came 
back  to  dinner  ;  he  had  a  mutton-chop 
in  his  study,  for  it  was  a  busy  day. 
While  thus  employed  there  came 
almost  bursting  into  the  room  a  man 
struck  with  remorse, — Jefferies,  the 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


387 


recreant  postmaster.  "Mr.  Mead- 
ows, I  can  carry  on  this  g^ame  no 
longer,  and  1  won't  for  any  man  liv- 
\n<^  !  "  lie  then  in  a  wild,  loud,  and 
excited  way  went  on  to  say  how  the- 
poor  {^irl  had  come  a  hundred  times 
for  a  letter,  and  looked  in  his  f\icc  so 
wistfully,  and  once  she  had  said  ;  "  U 
Mr.  Jetferies,  do  have  a  letter  for 
me  !  "  and  how  he  saw  her  pale  face 
in  his  dreams,  and  little  he  thought 
when  he  became  Meadows's  tool  the 
length  the  game  was  to  be  carried. 

Meadows  heard  him  out ;  then  sim- 
ply reminded  him  of  his  theft,  and 
assured  him  with  an  oath  that  if  he 
dared  to  confess  his  villany —  "My 
villany  ? "  shrieked  the  astonished 
postmaster. 

"  Whose  else  1  You  have  inter- 
cepted letters,  —  not  I.  You  have 
abused  the  public  confidence,  —  not 
I.  So  if  you  are  such  a  fool  and 
sneak  as  to  cut  your  throat  by  peach- 
ing on  yourself,  I  Ml  cry  louder  than 
vou,  and  I  Tl  show  you  have  emptied 
letters,  as  well  as  stopped  them.  Go 
home  to  your  wife,  and  keep  quiet,  or 
I  '11  smash  both  you  and  her." 

*•  O,  I  know  you  are  without  mer- 
cy, and  I  dare  not  open  my  heart 
while  I  live  ;  but  I  will  beat  you  yet, 
you  cruel  monster.  I  will  leave  a 
note  for  Miss  Merton,  confessing  all, 
and  blow  out  my  brains  to-night  in 
the  office." 

The  man's  manner  was  wild  and 
despairing.  Meadows  eyed  him  stern- 
ly. He  said  with  affected  coolness : 
"  Jetferies,  you  are  not  game  to  take 
your  own  life."  —  "Ain't  I?"  was 
the  reply.  —  "  At  least  I  think  not." 
—  "  To-night  will  show." 

"  I  must  know  that  before  night," 
cried  Meadows,  and  with  the  word  he 
sprang  on  Jefferies  and  seized  him  in 
a  grasp  of  iron,  and  put  a  pistol  to 
his  head.  —  "  Al)  !  no  !  Mr.  Meadows. 
Mercy  !  mercy  ! "  shrieked  the  man, 
in  an  agony  of  fear. 

"  All  right,"  said  Meadows,  coolly 
putting  up  the  pistol.  "  You  half 
imposed  on  me,  and  that  is  something 
for  you  to  brag  of.     You  won't  kill 


yourself,  Jefferies ;  you  are  not  the 
stutf.  Give  over  shaking  like  an  as- 
])en,  and  look  and  listen.  You  are  in 
debt.  I  've  bought  up  two  drafts  of 
yours,  —  here  they  are.  Come  to  mo 
to-morrow,  after  the  wedding,  and  I 
will  give  you  them  to  light  your  pipe 
with."  —  "0  Mr.  Meadows,  that 
would  be  one  load  off  my  mind." 

"  You  are  short  of  cash,  too  ;  come 
to  me  —  after  the  wedding,  and  1  '11 
give  you  fifty  pounds  cash."  —  "  You 
are  very  liberal,  sir.  I  wish  it  was  in 
a  better  cause." 

"  Now  go  home,  and  don't  be  a 
sneak  and  a  fool,  —  till  after  the  wed- 
ding, or  I  will  sell  the  bed  from  under 
your  wife's  back,  and  send  you  to  the 
stone-jug.     Be  off." 

Jefieries  crept  away,  paralyzed  in 
heart,  and  Meadows,  standing  up, 
called  out  in  a  rage :  "  Are  there 
any  more  of  you  that  hope  to  turn 
John  Meadows  ?  then  come  on,  come 
a  thousand  strong,  with  the  Devil  at 
your  back,  —  and  then  I  '11  beat 
you ! "  And  for  a  moment  the  re- 
spectable man  was  almost  grand  ;  a 
man-rock  standing  braving  earth  and 
heaven. 

"  Hist !  Mr.  Meadows."  He  turned, 
and  there  was  Crawley  "  A  word, 
sir.  Will  Fielding  is  in  the  town,  in 
such  a  passion." 

"  Come  to  stop  the  wedding  ?  "  — 
"  He  was  taking  a  glass  of  ale  at  the 
*  Toad  and  Pickaxe,'  and  you  might 
hear  him  all  over  the  yard." 

"  What  is  he  going  to  do  ?  "  — 
"  Sir,  he  has  bought  an  uncommon 
heavy  whip  ;  he  was  showing  it  in  the 
yard.  '  This  is  for  John  Meadows's 
back,'  said  he,  *  and  I  will  give  it 
him  before  the  girl  he  has  stolen  from 
my  brother.  If  she  takes  a  dog  in- 
stead of  a  man,  it  shall  be  a  beaten 
dog,'  says  he." 

Meadows  rang  the  bell.  "  Harness 
the  mare  to  the  four-wheel  chaise. 
You  know  what  to  do,  Crawley."  — 
"  Well,  I  can  guess." 

"  But  first  get  him  told  that  I  am 
alwavs  at  Grassmere  at  six  o'clock." 
—  "  But  you  won't  go  there  this  even- 


ass 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


ing,  of  course.'*  —  "Why  not?"  — 
"  Are  n't  yuu  afraid  he  —  " 

"  Afraid  of  Will  Fielding  ?  Why, 
you  have  never  looked  at  me.  I  do 
notice  your  eyes  are  always  on  the 
ground.  Crawisy,  when  I  was  eigh- 
teen, one  evening  (it  was  harvest 
home,  anu  all  the  folk  had  drunk 
their  wit  and  manners  out)  I  found 
a  fanner's  wife  in  a  lane,  hemmed  in 
by  three  great  ignorant  brutes  that 
were  for  kissing  her,  or  some  non- 
sense, and  she  crying  help  and  mur- 
der and  ready  to  faint  with  fright.  It 
was  a  decent  woman,  and  a  neighbor, 
so  I  interfered  as  thus :  I  knocked 
the  first  fellow  senseless  on  his  back 
•witli  a  blow  before  they  knew  of  me, 
and  then  the  three  were  two.  I  fought 
the  two,  giving  and  taking  for  full  ten 
minutes,  and  then  I  got  a  chance  and 
one  went  down.  I  put  my  foot  on 
his  neck  and  kept  him  down  for  all 
he  co'uld  do,  and  over  his  body  I 
fought  the  best  man  of  the  lot,  and 
thrashed  him  so  that  his  whole  mug 
was  like  a  ball  of  beetroot.  When  he 
was  quite  sick  he  ran  one  way,  and 
t'other  got  up  roaring  and  ran  anoth- 
er, and  they  had  to  send  a  hurdle  for 
No.  1.  Dame  Fielding  gave  me  of 
her  own  accord  what  all  the  row  was 
about,  and  more  than  one,  and  hearty 
ones  too  I  assure  you,  and  had  me  in 
to  supper,  and  told  her  man  ;  and  he 
shook  my  hand  a  good  one." 

"  Why,  sir,  you  don't  mean  to  say 
the  woman  you  fought  for  was  Mrs. 
Fielding."  —  "  But  I  tell  you  it  was, 
and  I  had  those  two  boys  on  my  knee, 
two  chubby  toads,  pulling  at  my  curly 


ha 


why  do    I    talk    of    these 


things  ?  O,  I  remember,  it  was  to  show 
you  I  am  not  a  man  that  can  be  bul- 
lied. I  am  a  much  better  man  than  I 
was  at  eighteen.  I  won't  be  married 
in  a  black  eye  if  I  can  help  it.  But, 
when  I  am  once  married,  here  I  stand 
against  all  conaers,  and  if  you  hear 
them  grumble  or  threaten  you,  tell 
them  that  any  Sunday  afternoon, 
when  there  is  nothing  better  to  be 
done,  I  '11  throw  my  cap  into  the  ring 
and  fight  all  the  Fieldings  that  ever 


were  pupped,  one  down  another  come 
on."  Then  turning  quite  cool  and 
contemptuous  all  in  a  moment,  he 
said,  "  These  are  words,  and  we  have 
work  on  hand  "  ;  and,  even  as  he 
spoke,  he  strode  from  the  room  pat- 
tered after  by  Crawley. 

At  six  o'clock  Meadows  and  Susan 
were  walking  arm  in  arm  in  the  gar- 
den. Presently  they  saw  a  man  ad- 
vancing towards  them,  with  his  right 
hand  behind  him.  "  Why,  it  is  Will 
Fielding,"  cried  Susan,  "come  to 
thank  you."  —  "I  think  not,  by  the 
look  of  him,"  replied  Meadows,  coolly. 
"  Susan,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
take  your  hand  from  that  man's  arm. 
I  have  got  a  word  to  say  to  him." 

Susan  did  more  than  requested, 
seeing  at  once  that  mischief  was  com- 
ing. She  clung  to  William's  right 
arm,  and  while  he  ground  his  teeth 
with  ineffectual  rage,  for  she  was 
strong,  as  her  sex  are  strong,  for  half 
a  minute,  and  to  throw  her  off  he 
must  have  been  much  rougher  with 
her  than  he  chose  to  be,  three  men 
came  behind  unobserved  by  all  but 
Meadows,  and  captured  him  on  the 
old  judgment.  And,  Crawley  having 
represented  him  as  a  violent  man,  they 
literally  laid  the  grasp  of  the  law  on 
him, 

"  But  I  have  got  the  money  to  pay 
it,"  remonstrated  William.  —  "  Pay 
it,  then." 

"  But  my  money  is  at  home,  give 
me  two  days.  I  '11  write  to  my  wife 
and  she  will  send  it  me."  The  offi- 
cers with  a  coarse  laugh  told  him  he 
must  come  with  them  meantime. 

Meadows  whispered  Susan  :  "  I  '11 
pay  it  for  him  to-morrow." 

They  took  off  William  Fielding  in 
Meadows's  four-wheeled  chaise. 

"  Whei-e  ai^  they  taking  him, 
John  1  "  —  "  To  the  county  jail." 

"  O,  don't  let  them  take  him 
there.  Can  you  not  trust  him  1  " — 
"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  not  pay  it  for  him  1  "  — 
"  But  I  don't  carry  money  in  my 
pocket,  and  the  bank  is  closed." 

"  How    unfortunate  !  "  —  "  Very ! 


IT  IS   I^EVEK   TOO   LA  IE   TO   MEND." 


38U 


but  I  Ml  sond  it  over  to-morrow  early, 
ami  we  will  liave  iiim  out." 

"  ( )  yes,  ]toor  U-llow  !  the  very  first 
tliin^j;  ill  the  luoruiiiji:."  —  "Yes!  the 
tirst  tiling,  —  after  we  are  married." 

Soou  alter  this  Meadows  b:ule  Su- 
san afleetionately  farewell,  and  rode 
otl'  to  >.'ewl)orou^di  to  buy  his  gloves 
and  some  presents  for  his  britle.  On 
the  road  he  overtook  William  Field- 
in;^  ^oing  to  jail,  leaned  over  his  sad- 
dle as  he  eantereil  by,  and  said,  "  Mrs. 
^leadows  will  send  the  money  in  to 
free  you  in  the  morninj;,"  then  on 
a<rain  as  eool  as  a  eueumbcr  and  ean- 
tered  into  the  town  before  sunset,  put 
up  Mack  Kaeliel  at  the  Kinjr's  Head, 
made  his  ]mreliases,  and  back  to  the 
inn.  As  he  sat  in  the  bar-parlor 
driiikin;;  a  ulass  of  ale  and  chatlinj; 
■with  the  landlady,  two  travellers  eame 
into  the  passage.  They  did  not  stop  in 
it  long,  for  one  of  them  knew  the 
liou^e  and  led  his  companion  into  the 
coffee-room.  But  in  that  moment  by 
a  flash  of  recognition,  spite  of  their 
bronzed  color  and  long  beards.  Mead- 
ows had  seen  who  they  were,  — 
George  Fielding  and  Thomas  Kobin- 
son. 

Words  could  not  paint  in  many 
pages  what  Meadows  passed  through 
in  a  few  seconds.  His  very  body  was 
one  moment  cold  as  ice,  the  next 
burning. 

The  coffee-room  door  was  open,  — 
he  dragged  himself  into  the  passage, 
thougli  each  foot  in  turn  seemed  glued 
to  the  ground,  and  listened.  lie 
came  back  and  sat  down  in  the  bar. 

"  Are  they  going  to  stay  1  "  said  the 
mistress  to  the  waiter.  —  "  Yes,  to  be 
called  at  five  o'clock." 

Tiie  bell  rang.  The  waiter  went 
and  immediately  returned.  "  Hot 
with,"  demanded  the  waiter,  in  a  sharp, 
mechanical  tone.  —  "  Here,  take  my 
keys  for  the  lump  sugar,"  said  the 
landlady,  and  she  poured  first  the 
brandy  and  then  the  hot  water  into  a 
tiunbler,  then  wetit  u[»  stairs  to  see 
about  the  travellers'  beds. 

Meadows  was  left  alone  a  few  mo- 
ments  with   the   liquor.     A    sudden 


flash  came  to  Meadows's  eye,  he  put 
his  iiaml  hastdy  to  his  waistcoat- 
pocket,  and  then  his  eye  biightened 
still  more.  Yes,  it  was  there,  he 
thouglit  he  had  had  the  curiosity  to 
keep  it  by  him.  He  drew  out  the 
white  lump  Crawley  had  left  on  his 
table  that  night,  and  flung  it  into  the 
glass  just  as  the  waiter  returned  with 
the  sugar. 

The  waiter  took  the  brandy  and 
water  into  the  coffee-room.  Meadows 
sat  still  as  a  mouse,  his  brain  boiling 
and  bubbling,  —  awe-struck  at  what 
he  had  done,  yet  meditating  worse. 

The  next  time  the  waiter  came  in, 
"  Waiter,"  said  he,  "  one  glass  atnong 
two,  that  is  short  allowance."  — 
"  Oh  !  the  big  one  is  teetotal,"  replied 
the  waiter. 

"  Mrs.  White?"  said  Meadows,  "  if 
you  have  got  a  bed  for  me  1  'II  sleep 
here,  for  my  nag  is  tired  and  the  night 
is  darkish."  —  "  Always  a  bed  for  you, 
Mr.  Meadows,"  was  the  gracious 
reply. 

Soon  the  two  friends  rang  for  bed- 
candles.  Robinson  staggered  with 
drowsiness.  Meadows  eyed  them  from 
behind  a  newspaper. 

Half  an  hour  later  INIr.  Meadows 
went  to  bed  too,  —  but  not  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning 
Crawley  was  at  Meadows's  house  by 
appointment.  To  his  great  surprise 
the  servant  told  him  master  had  not 
slept  at  home.  While  he  was  talking 
to  her  Meadows  galloped  up  to  the 
door,  jumped  off,  and  almost  ])ulled 
Crawley  up  stairs  with  him.  "  Lock 
the  door,  Crawley."  Crawley  obeyed, 
but  with  some  reluctance,  for  Mead- 
ows, the  iron  Meadows,  was  ghastly 
and  shaken  as  he  had  never  been 
shaken  before.  He  sank  into  a  chair. 
"  Perdition  seize  the  hour  1  first  saw 
her  !  "  As  for  Crawley  he  was  para- 
lyzetl  by  the  terrible  airitation  of  a 
spirit  so  much  greater  than  his  own. 


390 


"IT   IS   NEVER   TOO  LATE   TO  MEXD.' 


"  Crawley,"  said  Meadows,  with  a 
sudden  unnatural  cahn,  *"  wlien  the 
Devil  Imys  a  soul  for  money  how 
much  does  he  give?  a  good  lump,  I 
hear.  He  values  our  souls  high,  — 
we  don't,  some  of  us."  —  "  Mr.  Mead- 
ows, sir  !  " 

"  Now  count  those,"  yelled  Mead- 
ows, bursting  out  again,  and  he  flung 
a  roll  of  notes  furiously  on  the  ground 
at  Crawley's  feet,  "  count  and  tell  me 
what  my  soul  has  gone  for.  Oh ! 
Oh  !  " 

Crawley  seized  them  and  counted 
tliem  as  fast  as  his  trembling  fingers 
would  let  him.  So  now  an  eye  all 
remorse,  and  another  eye  all  greed, 
were  bent  upon  the  same  thing. 

"  Why,  they  are  all  hundred-pound 
notes,  bright  as  silver  from  the  Bank 
of  England.  O  dear<  how  new  and 
crimp  they  are,  —  where  do  they  come 
from,  sir  1 "  —  "  From  Australia."  — 
"  Ah  !  O,  impossible  !  No  !  nothing 
is  impossible  to  such  a  man  as  you. 
Twenty." 

"  They  are  at  Newborough,  —  slept 
at  '  King's  Head,'  "  whispered  Mead- 
ows. —  "  Good  Heavens  !  think  of 
that.     Thirtv  —  " 

"  So  did  i."  —  "  Ah  !  forty  —  four 
thousand  pounds." 

"  The  lump  of  stuif  you  left  here 
hoousscd  one,  —  it  was  a  toss-up,  — 
luck  was  on  my  side,  —  that  one  car- 
ried them,  —  slept  like  death,  —  long 
while  Imnting,  —  found  them  under 
his  pillow  at  last."  —  "  Well  done! 
and  we  fools  Avere  always  beat  at  it. 
Sixty  —  one  —  two  —  five  —  seven. 
Seven  thousand  pounds." 

"  Seven  -thousand  pounds  !  Who 
would  have  thought  it  1  This  is  a 
dear  job  to  me."  —  "  Say  a  dear  job 
to  them  and  a  glorious  haul  to  you ; 
but  you  deserve  it  all,  ah  !  " 

"  Why,  you  fool,"  cried  Meadows, 
"  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  keep 
the  men's  money  ?  "  —  "  Keep  it  ? 
why,  of  course  !  " 

'"'What!  am  I  a  thief?  I,  John 
Meadows,  that  never  wronged  a  man 
of  a  penny?  I  take  his  sweetheart,  I 
can't  live  without  her ;  but  I  can  live 


without  his  money.  I  have  criraos 
enough  on  my  head,  but  not  theft, 
there  1  say  halt."  —  "  Then  why  in 
the  name  of  Heaven  did  you  take  ihera 
at  such  a  risk  ?  "  Crawley  put  this 
question  roughly,  for  he  was  losing  his 
respect  for  his  idol. 

"  You  are  as  blind  as  a  mole,  Craw- 
ley," was  the  disdainful  answer. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  I  have  made 
George  Fielding  penniless,  and  that 
now  old  Merton  won't  let  him  have 
his  daughter  ?  Why  should  he  ?  He 
said,  '  If  you  come  back  with  one 
thousand  pounds.'  And  don't  you 
see  that,  when  the  writ  is  served  on 
old  JVIcrton,  he  will  be  as  strong  as 
tire  for  me  and  against  him.  He 
can't  marry  her  at  all  now.  I  shall 
soon  or  late,  and  the  day  I  marry  Su- 
san that  same  afternoon  seven  thou- 
sand pounds  will  be  put  in  George 
Fielding's  hand,  he  won't  know  by 
whom,  but  you  and  I  shall  know.  I 
am  a  sinner,  but  not  a  villain." 

Crawley  gave  a  dissatisfied  grunt. 
Meadows  struck  a  lucifcr  match  and 
lighted  a  candle.  He  placed  the  can- 
dle in  the  grate,  —  it  was  warm 
weather.  "  Come,  now,"  said  he, 
coolly,  "  burn  them ;  then  they  will 
tell  no  tales." 

Crawley  gave  a  shriek  like  a  moth- 
er whose  child  is  falling  out  of  win- 
dow, and  threw  himself  on  his  knees, 
with  the  notes  in  his  hand  behind   his 


back. 


No  !  no  !  sir!  O  don't  think 


of  it.  Talk  of  crime,  what  are  all 
the  sins  we  have  done  together  com- 
pared with  this  ?  You  would  not 
burn  a  wheat-rick,  no,  not  your  great- 
est enemy's  ;  I  know  you  would  not, 
you  are  too  good  a  man.  This  is  as 
bad  ;  the  good  money  that  the  boun- 
tiful Heaven  has  given  us  for  —  for 
the  good  of  man." 

"  Come,"  said  Meadows,  sternly, 
"  no  more  of  this  folly,"  and  he  laid 
his  iron  grasp  on  Crawley.  —  "  Mer- 
cy !  mercy  !  think  of  me,  —  of  your 
fiithfnl  servant,  who  has  risked  his 
life  and  stuck  at  nothing  for  you. 
How  unirrateful  great  men  are  ! " 

"  Ungrateful !  Crawley  !    Can  you 


"  IT    IS   NEVKU   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


o91 


look  mc  in  the  face  and  say  that  1  " 
—  "  Never  till  now,  hut  now  1  can  "  ; 
and  C'rawk'V  ruse  to  his  feet  antl 
faced  the  great  man  :  the  prize  he  was 
liLihtiii;;  for  ;;ave  him  supernatural 
coura;,'e.  "  To  whom  do  you  owe 
them  ?  To  mc.  You  could  never 
have  had  them  but  for  my  drug. 
And  yet  you  would  burn  liiem  he- 
lore  my  eyes.  A  fortune  to  poor 
me." 


To 


you 


—  "  Yes  !       What 


does  it  matter  to  you  what  becomes 
of  them  so  that  he  never  sees  them 
again  ?  but  it  matters  all  to  me.  Give 
them  to  me  and  in  twelve  hours  I  will 
be  in  France  with  them.  You  won't 
miss  n>e,  sir.  1  have  tlone  my  work. 
And  it  will  be  more  prudent,  for  sinee 
I  have  left  you  I  can't  help  drinking, 
and  I  might  talk,  you  know,  sir,  I 
might,  and  let  out  what  we  should 
both  be  sorry  for.  8end  me  away  to 
foreign  countries  -where  I  can  keep 
travelling,  and  make  it  always  sum- 
mer. I  hate  the  long  nights  when 
it  is  dark.  I  see  such  cu-u-rious 
things.  Pray !  pray  let  me  go  and 
take  these  with  me,  and  never  trouble 
you  again." 

The  words,  thonsrh  half  nonsense, 
were  the  other  half  cunning,  and  the 
tones  and  looks  were  piteous.  Mead- 
ows hesitated.  Crawley  knew  too 
nitu-h  ;  to  get  rid  of  him  was  a  bait ; 
and  afrer  all  to  annihilate  the  thint: 
he  hail  been  all  his  life  afr-nmnlatinc 
went  against  his  heart.  He  ranir  the 
bell.  "  Hide  tlie  notes,  Crawley. 
Bring  me  two  shirt^s,  a  razor,  and  a 
comb.  Crawlov,  these  are  the  terms. 
That  you  don't  go  near  that  wo- 
man — "  Crawley,  with  a  brutal 
phrase,  expressed  his  delicrht  at  the 
ide:i  of  getting  rid  of  her  forever. 
"  That  yon  go  at  once  to  the  railway. 
Station  opens  to-dav.  First  train  starts 
in  an  hour.  Up  to  London,  over  to 
I'rance  this  evening."  —  "  I  will,  sir. 
I Inn-ab  !  hurrah!  "  Then  Crawjoy 
biivst  into  ]>rotestations  of  gratitude 
which  ^^'■^dows  cut  short.  He  rang 
for  breakfast,  fed  his  accomplice, 
gave  him  a  great-coat  for  his  journey, 


and  took  the  precaution  of  going  with 

him  to  the  station.     There   he  shook 

I  hands  with   him   and   returned   to  the 

princii)al  street  and  entered  the  bank. 

Crawley  kept  faith,  he  hugged  his 
treasure  to  his  bosom  ami  sat  down 
waiting  for  the  train.  "  Luck  is  on 
our  side,"  thought  he  ;  "  if  this  had 
been  open  yesterday  those  two  would 
have  come  on  from  Newhorough." 

He  watched  the  preparations,  they 
were  decorating  the  locomotive  with 
bouquets  and  branches.  They  did 
not  start  punctually,  some  soi-disant 
great  people  had  not  arrived.  "I 
will  liave  a  dram,"  thought  Craw- 
ley; he  went  and  had  three:  then  he 
came  back  and  as  he  was  standing  in- 
sj)ecting  the  carriages  a  hand  was  laid 
on  his  shoulder  :  he  looked  round,  it 
was  Mr.  Wood,  a  functionary  with 
whom  he  had  often  done  business. 

"Ah,  Wood!  how  d'ye  do?  Go- 
ing to  make  the  tirst  trip  ?  "  —  "  No, 
sir!  1  have  business  detains  me  in 
town." 

"  What !  a  capias,  eh  ?  "  chuckled 
Crawley. 

"  Something  of  the  sort.  There  is 
a  friend  of  yours  hard  by  wants  to 
speak  a  word  to  you."  —  "  Come 
along  then.  Where  is  he  ?  "  —  "  This 
way,  sir." 

Crawley  followed  Wood  to  the  wait- 
ing-room, and  there  on  a  bench  sat 
Isaac  Levi.  Crawley  stopped  dead 
short  and  would  have  drawn  back,  but 
Levi  l)eckoned  to  a  seat  near  him. 
Crawley  came  walking  like  an  autom- 
aton from  whose  joints  the  oil  had 
suddenly  dried.  With  infinite  repug- 
nance he  took  the  seat,  not  likinir  to  re- 
fuse before  several  persons  who  saw 
the  invitation.  Mr.  Wood  sat  on  the 
other  side  of  him.  "  What  does  it  all 
mean  1  "  thought  Crawley,  but  his  cue 
was  to  seem  indifferent  or  flaKered. 

"  You  have  shaved  your  beard,  Mr. 
Crawley,"  said  Isaac,  in  a  low  tone.  — ' 
"  My  b(>ard  !  I  never  had  one,"  re- 
pli<-d  Crawley,  in  the  same  key. 

"  Yes,  you  had  wlien  last  I  saw  you 
—  in  the  gold  mine;  you  set  ruffi.ms 
to  abuse  me,  sir."  —  "  Don't  you  be- 


892 


IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


lieve  that,  Mr.  Levi."  —  "I  saw  it 
and  felt  it." 

The  peculiarity  of  this  situation 
was,  that,  the  room  being  full  of  peo- 
ple, both  parties  wished,  each  for  his 
own  reason,  not  to  exeite  general  at- 
tention, and  therefore  delivered  searee 
above  a  whisper  the  sort  of  matter 
that  is  generally  uttered  very  loud  and 
excitedly. 

"  It  is  my  turn  now,"  whispered 
Levi  ;  "  an  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for 
a  tooth." — "You  must  look  sharp 
then,"  whispered  Crawley;  "to-mor- 
row perhaps  you  may  not  have  the 
chance." 

"  I  never  postpone  vengeance,  — 
when  it  is  ripe."  —  "  Don't  you,  sir  1 
dear  me." 

"  You  have  seven  thousand  pounds 
about  you,  Mr.  Crawley."  Crawley 
started  and  trembled.  "  Stolen  !  " 
whispered  Isaac  in  his  very  ear. 
"  Give  it  up  to  the  officer." 

Crawley  rose  instinctively.  A  firm 
hand  was  laid  on  each  of  his  arms  ;  he 
sat  down  again.  "  What — what — 
ever  money  I  have  is  trusted  to  me 
by  the  wealthiest  and  most  respectable 
man  in  the  cou — nty,  and  —  " 

"  Stolen  by  him,  received  by  you! 
Give  it  to  Wood  unless  you  prefer  a 
public  search." — "You  can't  search 
me  without  a  warrant." 

"  Here  is  a  warrant  from  the  mayor. 
Take  the  notes  out  of  your  left  breast 
and  give  them  to  the  officer,  or  we 
must  do  it  by  force  and  publicity."  — 
"  I  won't  without  Mr.  Meadows's  au- 
thority. Send  for  Mr.  Meadows  if 
you  dare." 

Isaac  reflected.  "  Well !  we  will 
take  you  to  Mr.  Meadows.  Keep  the 
money  till  you  see  him,  but  we  must 
secure  you.  Put  his  coat  over  his 
hands  first."  The  great-coat  was 
put  over  his  hands,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment under  the  coat  was  heard  a  little 
sharp  click. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  carriage,"  said 
Levi,  in  a  bri<k.  clu'crful  tone. 

Those  present  heard  the  friendly  in- 
vitation arid  saw  a  little  string  of  ae- 
quaiutances,  th;ee  in   number,  break 


up  a  conversation  and  go  and  get  into 
a  fly ;  one  carried  a  great-coat  and 
bundle  belore  him  with  both  hands. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIV. 

Mr.  Meadows  went  to  the  bank 
—  into  tlie  parlor  —  and  said  he  must 
draw  seven  thousand  pounds  of  cash 
and  securities.  The  partners  look 
blank. 

"  I  know,"  said  Meadows,  "  I 
should  cripple  you.  Well,  I  am  not 
going  to,  nor  let  any  one  else,  —  it 
would  not  suit  my  book.  Just  hand 
me  the  securities  and  let  me  make 
over  that  sum  to  George  Fielding  and 
Thomas  Robinson.  There  !  now  for 
some  montlis  to  come  those  two  men 
are  not  to  know  how  rich  they  are,  in 
fact  not  till  I  tell  them."  A  very 
ready  consent  to  this  was  given  by' 
l)Otir  partners  ;  1  am  afraid  I  might 
say  an  eager  consent. 

"  There  !  now  I  feel  another  man, 
that  is  off  me  any  way,"  and  Mead- 
ows strode  home  double  the  man. 
Soon  his  new  top-boots  were  on,  and 
his  new  dark  blue  coat  with  flat 
double-gilt  buttons,  and  his  hat  broad- 
ish  in  the  brim,  and  he  looked  the 
model  of  a  British  yeomau ;  he 
reached  Grassmere  before  eleven 
o'clock.  It  was  to  be  a  very  quiet 
wedding,  but  the  bridesmaids,  &c. 
were  there,  and  Susan  all  in  white, 
pale,  but  very  lovely.  Father-in-law 
cracking  jokes,  Susan  writhing  under 
them. 

"  Now,  then,  is  it  to  be  a  wedding 
without  bells,  for  I  hear  none  ?  "  — 
"  That  it  shall  not,"  cried  one  of  the 
young  men  ;  and  off  they  ran  to  the 
church. 

Meantime  Meadows  was  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  mirthful  scene.  He  was 
in  a  violent  excitement  that  passed 
with  the  rustics  for  gayery  a:itural  to 
the  occasion.  They  did  not  notice 
his  anxious  glances  up  the  hill  that 
led  to  Newborough  ;  his  eager  and  re- 
peated looks  at  his  watch,  tlie  sigh  of 


IT   IS   NKVKli    TOO    LATL   TU   iMK^iD. 


303 


relief  when  the  churrh-bclls  pealed 
out,  tlie  tremors  of  impaticnci*,  the 
stni;_'j;k'  to  Jippiar  cool  as  he  sunt  one 
to  hiiriv  tlie  cieik,  another  to  tell  the 
clergyman  the  liride  was  ready  ;  the 
stamp  of  the  foot  when  one  of  the 
bridesmaids  took  ten  minutes  to  tie  on 
a  honnet.  lie  walked  arm  in  arm 
with  Susan  waiting  for  this  girl;  at 
last  she  was  ready.  Then  came  one 
runnini;  to  say  that  the  parson  was 
not  come  home  yet.  What  it  cost 
him  not  to  swear  at  the  parson  with 
Susan  on  his  arm  and  the  church  in 
sight ! 

While  he  was  thus  fuming  inward- 
ly, a  handsome  dark-eyed  youth  came 
up  and  incjuired  which  was  the  bride. 
She  was  pointed  out  to  him.  "  A  let- 
ter for  you,  Miss  Mcrton."  —  "For 
me  ?     Who  from  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  the  handwriting,  and 
Meailows  looked  keenly  in  the  boy's 
face.  "  A  Jew,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"  Susan,  you  have  got  your  gloves 
on."  And  in  a  moment  he  took  the 
letter  from  her,  but  quietly,  and 
opened  it  as  if  to  return  it  to  her  to 
read.  He  glanced  down  it,  saw  "  Jef- 
feries,  postma><ter,"  and  at  tlie  bottom 
"  Isaac  Levi."  With  wonderful  pres- 
ence of  mind  he  tore  it  in  pieces. 
"  An  insult,  Susan,"  he  cried.  "  A 
mean,  malignant  insult  to  set  you 
against  me,  —  a  wife  against  her  hus- 
band." 

Ere  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth  he  seized  the  young  Jew  and 
whirled  him  like  a  feather  into  the 
hands  of  his  friends.  "  Duck  him  !  " 
cried  he.  And  in  a  moment,  spite  of 
his  remonstrances  and  attempts  at 
explanation,  Nathan  was  flung  into 
the  horse-pond.  lie  struggled  out  on 
the  other  side,  and  stooil  on  the  bank 
in  a  stupor  of  rage  and  terror,  while 
the  bridegroom  menaced  him  with  an- 
other dose,  should  he  venture  to  return. 
"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  to-mor- 
row, Susan." 

"  Calm  yourself,"  replied  Susan. 
"I  know  you  have  enetnies,  but  why 
punish -a  messenger  for  the  letter  he 
onlv  carries  ?  " 

17* 


I      "  You  are  an  ai^jel,  Susan.     Boys, 

I  let  him  alone,  do  ytni  hear"?  "     N.  B. 

i  He  h;id  i)een  ducked. 

I  And  now  a  loud  imrrah  was  heard 
from  behind  tlie  church.  "  The  parson 
at  last,"  cried  Meadows,  exultingly. 
Susan  lowered  her  eyes,  and  hated 
herself  for  the  shiver  that  passed 
through  her.  To  her  the  parson  was 
the  executioner. 

It  was  not  the  parson.  The  next 
moment  two  Hguies  came  round  in 
sight.  Meadows  turned  away  with  a 
groan.  "  George  Fielding  !  "  said  he. 
The  words  dropped,  as  it  were,  out  of 
his  mouth. 

Susan  misunderstood  this.  She 
thought  he  read  her  heart,  and  as- 
cribed her  repugnance  to  her  linger- 
ing attachment  to  George.  She  was 
angry  with  herself  for  letting  this 
worthy  man  see  her  want  of  pride. 
"Why  do  you  mention  that  name 
to  me?  What  do  I  care  for  him 
who  has  deceived  me  ?  I  .wish  he 
stood  at  the  church  door,  that  he 
might  see  how  I  would  look  at  him 
and  pass  him  leaning  on  your  faithful 
arm." 

"  Susan  !  "  cried  a  well-known  voice 
behind  her.  She  trembled  and  almost 
crouched  ere  she  turned  ;  but  the  mo- 
ment she  turned  round  she  gave  a 
scream  that*  brought  all  the  company- 
running,  and  the  bride  forgot  every- 
thing at  the  sight  of  George's  hand- 
some, honest  face  beaming  truth  and 
love,  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 
George  kissed  the  bride. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  bridesmaids, 
awaking  from  their  stupor,  and  re- 
membering this  was  her  old  lover. 
"  Oh  !  "  "  Oh  !  !  "  "  Oh  !  !  !  "  on  an 
ascending  scale. 

These  exclamations  brought  Susan 
to  her  senses.  She  sprang  from  George 
as  though  an  adder  had  stung  her  ; 
and,  red  as  fire,  her  eyes  like  basilisks', 
she  turned  on  him  at  a  safe  distance. 
"  How  dare  you  embrace  me  ?  How 
dare  you  come  where  I  am  '.  Father, 
ask  tills  man  why  he  comes  here  noio 
to  make  me  expose  myself,  and  insult 
the  honest  man  who  honors  me  with 


394 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


his  respect.  O  father,  come  to  me, 
and  tiike  me  away  from  here." 

"  Susan,  what  on  earth  is  tliis  ? 
what  have  I  done  1  "  —  "  What  have 
you  done  ?  You  are  false  to  me  !  you 
never  wrote  me  a  letter  fur  twelve 
months,  and  you  are  married  to  a 
lady  in  Bathui'st !     O  George  !  " 

*'lf  he  is,"  cried  Kobinson,  "he 
must  be  slyer  than  I  give  him  credit 
for,  for  I  have  never  left  his  side  night 
nor  day,  and  I  never  saw  him  say  three 
civil  words  to  a  woman."  —  '•  Mr.  Rob- 
inson !  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Robinson.  Somebody 
has  been  making  a  i'ool  of  you.  Miss 
Merton.  Why,  all  his  cry  night  and 
day  has  been,  '  Susan  !  Susan  ! ' 
When  we  found  the  great  nugget  he 
kisses  it,  and  says  he,  '  There,  that  is 
not  because  you  are  gold,  but  because 
you  take  me  to  Susan.'  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Tom,"  said 
George,  sternly.  "  Who  puts  me  on 
my  defence  ?  Is  there  any  man  here 
who  has  been  telling  her  I  have  ever 
had  a  thought  of  any  girl  but  her  ? 
If  ther^  is,  let  him  stand  out  now, 
and  say  it  to  mj^'face  if  he  dares." 
There  was  a  dead  silence.  "  There 
is  a  lie  without  a  backer,  it  seems  "  ; 
and  he  looked  round  on  all  the  com- 
pany Avith  his  calm  superior  eye. 
"  And  now,  Susan,  what  were  you 
doing  on  that  man's  arm  ?  " —  "  Oh  !" 

"  Miss  Merton  and  I  are  to  be  mar- 
ried to-day,"  said  Meadows,  "  that  is 
why  I  gave  her  my  arm" 

Geor<:e  gasped  for  breath,  but  he 
controlled  himself  by  a  mighty  effort. 
"  She  thought  me  fal^^e,  and  now  she 
knows  I  am  true.  Susan,"  faltered 
he,  "  I  say  nothing  about  the  prom- 
ises that  have  passed  between  us  two, 
and  the  ring  you  gave.  Here  it  is." 
—  "  He  has  kept  my  ring  !  " 

"  I  was  there  before  you,  Mr.  Mead- 
ows,—  but  I  won't  stand  upon  that; 
I  don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in  the 
world  loves  a  woman  in  the  world 
better  than  I  love  Susan  ;  but  still  I 
would  not  give  a  snap  of  the  finsrer  to 
have  her  if  her  will  was  towards  an- 
othtjr.     So  please  yourself,  my  lass, 


and  don't  cry  hke  that:  only  this 
must  end.  I  won't  live  in  doubt  a 
moment,  no,  nor  half  a  moment. 
Speak  your  pleasure  and  nothing  else  ; 
choose  between  John  Meadows  and 
George  Fielding." 

"  That  is  fair,"  cried  one  of  the 
bridegrooms.  The  women  secretly 
admired  George.  This  is  a  man, 
thought  they,  —  won't  stand  our  non- 
sense. 

Susan  looked  up  in  mute  astonish- 
ment. "  What  choice  can  there  be  1 
The  moment  I  saw  your  face,  and 
truth  still  shining  in  it,  I  forgot  there 
was  a  John  IMeadows  in  the  world  !  " 

With  these  words  Susan  cast  a  ter- 
rified look  all  round,  and,  losing  evecy 
other  feeling  in  a  paroxysm  of  shame, 
hid  her  burning  face  in  her  hands, 
and  made  a  sudden  bolt  into  the 
house  and  up  stairs  to  her  room,  where 
she  was  followed  and  diseovered  by 
one  of  her  bridesmaids  tearing  off  her 
wedding-clothes,  and  laughing  and 
crying  a'.l  in  a  breath. 

1st  Bridcfjrcovi.  "Well,  Josh,  what 
d'  ye  think  1  "  —  2d  Bridegroom. 
"  Why,  I  think  there  won't  be  a  wed- 
ding to-day." 

\st  Bridegroom.  "Xo,  nor  to-morrow 

neither.    Sal,  put  on  your  bonnet  and 

let 's  you  and  I  go  home.     I  came  to 

I  Meadows's  wedding  ;  must  n't  stay  to 

I  anybody's  else's." 

These  remarks  were  delivered  open- 
ly, pro  bono,  and  dissolved  the  wed- 
ding party.  Four  principal  parties 
remained,  —  Meadows,  old  Merton, 
and  the  two  friends. 

"  Well,  uncle,  Susan  has  spoken 
her  mind,  now  you  speak  yours."  — 
'•  George,  I  have  been  an  imprudent 
fool,  I  am  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  I  owe 
more  than  two  thousand  pounds.  We 
heard  you  had  changed  your  mind,  and 
Meadows  came  forward  like  a  man, 
and  said  he  would  —  " 

"Your  word,. uncle,  your  promise. 
I  crossed  the  seas  on  the  faith  of  it." 
An  upper  window  was  gently  opened, 
and  a  blushing  face  listened,  and  the 
hand  that  they  were  all  diseussing 
i  and   disposing  of  drew  back  a  little 


IT   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   iMEND." 


39.^ 


curtain,  and  clutched  it  convulsively. 
"  You  did,  George,"  said  the  old 
farmer. 

"Says  you,  '  Briri};  back  a  thou- 
sand puunils  to  s1k)\v  nio  you  are  not  a 
fool,  and  you  shall  have  my  dauj^h- 
tcr,'  and  she  was  to  have  your  l)lcss- 
ing.  Am  I  right,  ^Ir.  Meadows  1  you 
were  present."  — "  Those  were  the 
words,"  replied  Meadows. 

"  Well !  and  have  you  brought  back 
the  thousand  jiounds  f  "  —  "I  have." 

"John,  I  must  stand  to  my  word  ; 
and  I  will,  —  it  is  justice.  Take  the 
girl,  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can  with 
her ;  and  her  father  in  the  work- 
house." —  "  I  take  her,  and  that  is  as 
much  as  to  say  that  neither  her  father 
nor  any  one  she  respects  shall  go  to 
the  workhouse.  How  much  is  my 
share,  Tom  1 "  —  "Four  thousand 
pounds." 

"  No,  not  so  much."  —  "  Yes,  it  is. 
Jacky  gave  you  his  share  of  the  great 
nugget,  and  you  gave  him  sheep  in 
return.  Here  tlicy  are,  lads  and 
lasses,  seventy  of  them  varying  from 
one  live  six  naught  to  one  six  two 
nine,  and  all  as  crimp  as  a  muslin 
gown  new  starched.  Why  ?  I  never 
j)Ut  this,"  and  he  took  pieces  of  news- 
paper out  of  his  pocket  book,  and 
looked  stupidlv  at  eaeh  as  it  came  out. 

"  Whv,  Tom  ?  "—  "  Robbed  !  "  — 
"  Robbed,  Tom  ?  "  —  "  Robbed  !  oh  ! 
I  put  the  book  under  my  pillow,  and 
there  I  found  it  tins  morning. 
Robbed  !  robbed  !  Kill  me,  George, 
I  have  ruined  you." 

"  I  can't  speak,"  gasped  George. 
"  O,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  1  " 

"  But  I  can  speak  !  Don't  tell  me 
of  a  London  thief  being  robbed  !  !  ! 
George  Fielding,  if  you  are  a  man  at 
all,  go  an<l  leave  me  and  my  daughter 
in  peace.  If  you  had  come  home 
with  money  to  keep  her,  I  was  rea''y 
to  give  you  Susan  to  my  own  ruin. 
Now  it  is  ynnr  turn  to  show  yourself 
the  ri<rht  stuff.  My  daughter  has 
given  her  hand  to  a  m;in  who  can 
make  a  lady  of  her,  and  set  me  on  my 
legs  again.  You  can  only  beggar  us. 
Don't  stand  in  the   poor  girl's  light ; 


for  pity's   sake,   George,  leavo^us  ia 
peace." 

"  You  are  right,  old  man  ;  my 
head  is  confused  " ;  and  George  put 
his  hand  feebly  to  his  laow.  "  But 
I  seem  to  see  it  is  my  duty  to  go,  and 
I  '11  go."  George  staggered.  Rob- 
inson made  towards  him  to  support 
him.  "  Tiiere,  don't  make  a  fuss 
with  me.  There  is  nothing  the  mat- 
ter with  me,  —  only  my  heart  is  dead. 
Let  me  sit  on  this  bench  and  draw 
my  breath  a  minute  —  and  then  — 
I  '11  go.  Give  me  your  hand,  Tom. 
Never  heed  their  gibes.  I  'd  trust  you 
with  more  gold  than  the  best  of  them 
was  ever  wortli." 

Rolnnson  bef.'an  to  blubber  the  mo- 
ment George  took  his  hand,  spite  of 
the  money  lost.  "  Wc  worked  hard 
for  it  too,  good  folks,  and  risked  our 
lives  as  well  as  our  toil " ;  and 
George  and  Robinson  sat  hand  in 
hand  upon  the  bench,  and  turned  their 
heads  away,  —  that  it  was  pitiful  to 
!  see. 

I  But  still  the  pair  held  one  another 
I  by  the  hand,  and  George  said,  falter- 
ing :  "  I  have  got  this  left  me  still. 
I  Ay,  I  have  heard  say  that  friendship 
I  was  better  than  love,  and  I  dare  say 
I  so  it  is." 

As  if  to  plead  against  this  verdict, 
I  Susan  came  timidly  to   her  lover  ia 
his  soiTOw,  and  sat  on  his  other  side, 
and  laid  her  head  gently  on  his  shoul- 
I  der.      "  AVhat  signifies  money  to  us 
'  two  ?  "  she  murmured.     "  O,  I  have 
been  robbed  of  what  was  dearer  than 
life  this  bitter  year,  and  now  you  are 
down-hearted  at  loss  of  money.  How 
foolish    to  grieve  for   such    nonsense 
when  I   am    so    hap — hap — happy!" 
and  again  the  lovely  face  rested  light 
as  down  on  George's  shoulder,  weep- 
ing deliciously. 

"  It  is  hard,  Tom,"  gasped  George  ; 
"  it  is  bitter  hard  ;  but  1  shall  find  a 
little  bit  of  manhood  by  and  by  to  do 
my  duty.  Give  me  breath !  only 
give  me  breath  !  We  will  go  baek 
again  where  we  came  from,  Tom: 
oidy  I  shall  have  nothing  to  work  for 
now.       Where    is   William,   if   you 


396 


IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND.' 


please  ?     Has  he  forgotten  me,  too  ?  " 

—  "  William  is  in    prison    for   debt," 
said  (fid  Merton,  gravely. 

'*  No,  he  is  not,"  put  in  Meadows, 
"for  I  sent  the  money  to  let  him  out 
an  hour  ago."  — "  You  sent  the 
money  to  let  my  brother  out  of  jail  1 
That  sounds  queer  to  me.  I  suppose 
I   ought  to  thank  you,  but  I  can't." 

—  "I  don't  ask  your  thanks,  young 
man." 

"You  see,  George,"  said  old  Mer- 

ton,  "  ours  is  a  poor   family,  and   it 

will  be  a  great  thing  for  us  all  to  have 

such  a  man  as  Mr.  Aleadows  in  it,  if 

you  will  only  let  us." — "O  father, 

you   make   me    blush,"  cried    Susan, 

beginning  to  get  her  first  glimpse  of 

his  character. 

^     "  He   does  n't    make    me    blush," 

y'  cried  George ;  "  but  he  makes  me  sick. 

^      This  old  man  would  make  me  walk 

out  of  heaven  if  he  was  in  it.     Come, 

let  us  go  back  to  Australia." 

"  Ay,  that  is  the  best  thing  yon  can 
do,"  cried  old  Merton.  —  "  If  he 
does,  I  shall  go  with  him,"  said  Su- 
san, with  sudden  calmness.  She  add- 
ed, dropping  her  voice,  "  If  he  thinks 
me  worthy  to  go  anywhere  with  him." 

*'  Y^ou  are  worthy  of  better  than 
that,  and  better  shall  be  your  luck  "  ; 
and  George  sat  down  on  the  bench 
with  one  bitter  sob  that  seemed  to 
tear  his  manly  heart  in  two. 

There  was  a  time  Meadows  would 
have  melted  at  this  sad  sight,  but  now 
it  enraged  him.  He  whispered  fierce- 
ly to  old  Merton  :  "  Touch  him  on 
his  pride ;  get  rid  of  him,  and  your 
debts  shall  be  all  paid  that  hour ;  if 
not  —  "  He  then  turned  to  that  heait- 
stricken  trio,  touched  his  hat,  "  Good 
day,  all  the  company,"  said  he,  and 
strode  away  with  rage  in  his  heart  to 
set  the  law  in  motion  against  old  Mer- 
ton, and  so  drive  matters  to  a  point. 

But  before  he  had  tnken  a  dozen 
steps  he  was  met  by  two  men  who 
planted  themselves  right  before  him. 
"  You  can't  pass,  sir." 

Meadows  looked  at  them  with  hu- 
morous surprise.  They  had  hooked 
noses.     He  did  not  like  that  so  well. 


"  Why  not  ?  "  said  he,  quietly,  but 
with  a  wicked  look. 

One  of  the  men  whistled,  a  man 
popped  out  of  tlie  cliurcliyard  and 
joined  the  two ;  he  had  a  hooked 
nose.  Another  came  through  the 
gate  from  the  lane  ;  another  from  be- 
hind the  house.  The  scene  kept  qui- 
etly filling  with  hooked  noses  till  it 
seemed  as  if  the  ten  tribes  were  reas- 
sembling from  the  four  winds. 

"  Are  they  going  to  pitch  into 
me  1  "  thought  Meadows  ;  and  he 
felt  in  his  pocket  to  see  if  his  pistol 
was  there. 

Meantime,  George  and  Susan  and 
Tom  rose  to  their  feet  in  some  aston- 
ishment. 

"  There  is  a  chentleman  coming  to 
put  a  question  or  two,"  said  the  first 
speaker.  And,  in  fact,  an  old  ac- 
quaintance of  ours,  Mr.  Williams, 
came  riding  up,  and,  hooking  his 
horse  to  the  gate,  came  in,  saying,  "  O 
here  you  are,  Mr.  Meadows.  There 
is  a  ridiculous  charge  brought  against 
you,  but  I  am  obliged  to  hear  it  be- 
fore dismissing  it.  Give  me  a  seat. 
O,  here  is  a  bench.  It  is  very  hot. 
I  am  informed  that  two  men  belong- 
ing to  this  place  have  been  robbed  of 
seven  thousand  pounds  at  the  '  King's 
Head '  —  the  '  King's  Head  '  in  New- 
borough." 

"  It  is  true,  sir,"  cried  Kobinson, 
"  but  how  did  you  know  ?  "  —  "I 
am  here  to  ask  questions,"  was  the 
sharp  answer. 

"  Who  are  you  1  "  —  "  Thomas 
Robinson." 

'*  Which  is  George  Fielding  ?  "  — 
"  I  am  George  Fielding,  sir."  — **  Have 
you  been  robbed?" — "We  have, 
sir."  —  "  Of  how  much  1  "  —  "  Seven 
thousand  pounds." 

"  Gome,  that  tallies  with  the  old 
gentleman's  account.  Hum  !  where 
did  you  sleep  last  niirht,  Mr.  Mead- 
ows ?  "  —  "  At  the  •  King's  Head  '  in 
Newhorough,  sir,"  replied  Meadows, 
witliout  any  visible  he>itation. 

"  Well,  that  is  curious,  but  I  need 
not  say  I  don't  believe  it  is  more  than 
coincidence.     Where  is  the  old  gen- 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


397 


tleman  ?  O,  pive  way  there,  and  let 
hiin  come  here." 

Now  all  this  was  incxplicahlc  to 
Mi'adows,  hut  still  it  hroiii^^lit  a  th-adly 
cliill  ot  va«:iu  appriheiisioii  over  him. 
He  tilt  us  if  a  hu;;e  gossamer  net  was 
closing  roiiiid  him.  Another  mo- 
ment the  only  spider  capable  of  spin- 
ning it  stood  in  front  of  him.  "  I 
thought  so,"  dropi)ed  from  his  lips  as 
Isaac  Levi  and  he  stood  once  more 
fa<'e  to  face. 

"  I  accuse  that  man  of  the  theft. 
Nathan  and  I  heard  him  tell  Crawley 
that  he  had  drugged  the  young  man's 
li(pior  and  stolen  the  notes.  Then 
we  heard  Crawley  beg  for  the  notes, 
and  after  much  entreaty  he  gave  them 
him." 

"  It  is  true  !  "  cried  Robinson,  in 
violent  agitation :  "  it  must  be  true. 
You  know  what  a  light  sleeper  I  am, 
antl  how  often  you  had  to  shake  me 
this  morning.  I  was  hocussed  and 
no  mistake  !  " 

"  Silence  !  "  —  "  Yes,  your  wor- 
ship." 

"  Where  were  you,  Mr.  Levi,  to 
hear  all  this  ?  "  —  "  In  the  east  room 
of  my  house." 

"  And  where  was  he  1  "  —  "  In  the 
west  room  of  his  house." 

"  It  is  impossible."  —  "  Say  not  so, 
sir.  I  will  .>;how  you  it  is  true. 
Meantime  I  will  explain  it." 

He  explained  his  contrivance  at  full. 
Meadows  lmr>g  liis  head  ;  he  saw 
how  terribly  the  subtle  Oriental  had 
outwitted  hiiTi ;  yet  his  presence  of 
mind  never  for  a  moment  deserted 
him. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  offend  Mr.  Levi,  and  he 
is  my  sworn  enemy.  If  you  really 
mean  to  go  into  this  ridiculous  affair, 
allow  me  to  bring  witnesses,  and  I 
will  prove  to  you  he  has  been  threat- 
ening vengeance  against  me  these 
two  years,  —  and  you  know  a  lie  is 
not  much  to  a  Jew.  Does  this  ap- 
pear likely  ?  I  am  worth  sixty  thou- 
sand pounds,  — why  should  I  steal  ?  " 
—  "  Why,  indeed  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. 


*'  I  stole  these  notes  to  give  them 
away,  —  that  is  your  story,  is  it  '.  "  — 
"  Nay,  you  siole  tiiem  to  beggar  your 
rival,  whose  leiti  rs  to  the  maiden  ho 
loved  you  had  intercepted  by  fraud 
at  the  post-office  in  Farnborough." 
Susan  and  George  uttered  an  excla- 
mation at  the  same  moment.  "  But, 
having  stole  them,  you  gave  them  to 
Crawley." 

"  How  generous  !  "  sneered  Mead- 
ows. "  Well,  when  you  find  Crawley 
with  seven  thousand  pounds,  and  he 
says  I  gave  them  him,  Mr.  Williams 
will  take  your  word  against  mine,  and 
not  till  then,  I  think."  —  "  Certainly 
not,  —  the  most  respectable  man  for 
miles  round  !  " 

"  So  be  it,"  retorted  Isaac,  coolly  ; 
"  Nathan,  bring  Crawley."  At  that 
unexpected  word.  Meadows  looked 
round  for  a  way  to  escape.  The 
hooked-nose  ones  hemmed  him  in. 
Crawley  was  brought  out  of  the  fly, 
quaking  with  fear. 

"  Sir,"  said  Levi,  "  if  in  that 
man's  bosom,  on  the  left-hand  side, 
the  missing  notes  are  not  found,  let 
me  suffer  scorn  ;  but,  if  they  be  found, 
give  us  justice  on  the  evil-doer." 

The  constable  searched  Crawley 
amidst  the  intense  anxiety  of  all  pres- 
ent. He  found  a  bundle  of  notes. 
There  was  a  universal  cry. 

"  Stop,  sir  !  "  said  Robinson,  "  to 
make  sure  I  will  describe  our  prop- 
erty, —  seventy  notes  of  one  hun- 
dred pounds  each.  Numbers  one  live 
six  nauirlit  to  one  six  two  nine. 

Mr.  Williams  examined  the  bundle, 
and  at  once  handed  them  over  to 
Robinson,  who  shoved  them  hastily 
into  George's  hands  and  danced  for 

joy- 
Mr.    Williams   looked   ruefully   at 
Meadows,  then    he    hesitated  ;    then, 
turning  sharply  to  Crawley,  he  said, 
"  Where  did  you  get  these  ?  " 

Meadows  tried  to  catch  his  eye  and 
prevail  on  him  to  say  nothing  ;  but 
Crawley,  who  had  not  heard  Levi's 
evidence,  made  sure  of  saving  him- 
self by  means  of  Meadovvs's  rcputa- 
*ion. 


598 


"IT   IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO  MEND.' 


"  I  had  them  from  Mr  Meadows," 
he  cried;  "and  what  ahout  it?  it 
is  iKJt  the  first  time  he  has  trusted 
me  with  mueh  larj^^er  sums  than 
that." 

"  Oh !  you  had  them  from  Mr. 
Meadows  ?  "  — "  Yes,  I  had  !  " 

"  Mr,  Meadows,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
I  must  commit  you  ;  hut  I  still  hope 
you  will  clear  yourself  elsewhere."  — 
"  I  have  not  the  least  uneasiness 
ahout  that,  sir,  thank  you.  You  will 
admit  me  to  hail,  of  course  ?  "  —  "  Im- 
possible !  Wood,  here  is  a  warrant, 
I  will  sign  it." 

While  tlie  magistrate  was  signing 
the  warrant,  Meadows's  head  fell  up- 
on his  breast;  he  seemed  to  collapse 
standing. 

Isaac  Levi  eyed  him  scornfully. 
"  You  had  no  mercy  on  the  old  Jew. 
You  took  his  house  from  him,  not  for 
your  need  but  for  hate.  So  he  made 
that  house  a  trap  and  caught  you  in 
your  villany." 

"  Yes  !  you  have  caught  me,"  cried 
^Meadows,  "  but  you  will  never  cage 
me  !  "  and  in  a  moment  his  pistol  was 
at  his  own  temple  and  he  pulled  the 
trigger, — the  cap  failed;  he  pulled 
the  other  trigger,  the  other  cap  failed. 
He  gave  a  yell  like  a  wounded  tiger, 
and  stood  at  bay  gnashing  his  teeth 
with  rage  and  despair.  Haifa  dozen 
men  threw  themselves  upon  him,  and 
a  struggle  ensued  that  almost  baffles 
descri|ition.  He  dragged  those  six 
men  about  up  and  down,  some  cling- 
ing to  his  legs,  some  to  his  body.  He 
whirled  nearly  every  one  of  tfiem  to 
the  ground  in  turn  ;  and,  when  by 
pulling  at  bis  legs  they  got  him  down, 
he  fought  like  a  badger  on  his  back, 
seized  two  by  the  throat,  and  putting 
his  feet  under  another  drove  him  into 
the  air  doubled  up  like  a  ball,  and 
he  fell  on  Levi  and  sent  the  old  man 
into  Mr.  Williams's  arms,  who  sat 
down  with  a  Jew  in  his  lap,  to  the 
derangement  of  his  magisterial  dig- 
nity. 

At  last  he  was  mastered,  and  his 
hands  tied  behind  him  with  two  haud-» 
kerchiefs. 


"  Take  the  rascal  to  jail !  "  cried 
Williams,  in  a  passion.  Meadows 
groaned.  "  Ay  !  take  me,"  said  he, 
"  you  can't  make  me  live  there.  I've 
lived  respected  all  these  years,  and 
now  I  shall  be  called  a  felon.  Take 
me  where  I  may  hiile  my  head  and 
die  ! "  and  the  wretched  man  moved 
away  with  feeble  steps,  his  strength 
and  spirit  crushed  now  his  hands  were 
tied. 

Then  Crawley  followed  him,  abus- 
ing and  reviling  him.  "  So  this  is 
the  end  of  all  3'our  manoeuvring  !  O, 
what  a  fool  I  was  to  side  with  such  a 
bungler  as  you  against  Mr.  Levi. 
Here  am  I,  an  innocent  man,  ruined 
tlirough  knowing  a  thief, — ah  !  you 
don't  like  that  word,  but  what  else  are 
you  but  a  thief?  "  and  so  he  followed 
his  late  idol  and  heaped  reproaches 
and  insults  on  him,  till  at  last  Mead- 
ows turned  round  and  cast  a  vague 
look  of  mute  despair,  as  much  as  to 
say,  '  How  am  I  fallen,  when  this  can 
trample  me  !  ' 

One  of  the  company  saw  this  look 
and  understood  it.  Yielding  to  an 
impulse  he  took  three  steps,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  Crawley.  Ye  little 
snake,"  said  he,  "  let  the  man  alone  !  " 
and  he  sent  Crawley  spinning  like  a 
teetotum  ;  then  turned  on  his  own 
heel  and  came  away,  looking  a  little 
red  and  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done. 
My  readers  shall  guess  which  of  the 
company  this  was. 

Half-way  to  the  county  jail  Mead- 
ows and  Crawley  met  William  Field- 
ing coming  back. 

It  took  hours  and  hours  to  realize 
all  the  happiness  that  had  fallen  on 
two  loving  hearts.  First  had  to  pass 
away  many  a  ^pasm  of  terror  at  the 
wrongs  they  had  suffered,  the  danger 
they  had  C'^caped,  the  long  misery 
they  had  grazed.  They  remained 
rooted  to  the  narrow  spot  of  ground 
where  such  great  and  strange  events 
had  passed  in  a  few  minutes,  and  their 
destinies  had  fluctuated  so  violently, 
anil  all  ended  in  joy  unspeakable. 
And  everybody  put  questions  to 
everybody,  and   all   compared  notes. 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND.' 


399 


and  the  hours  fled  while  they  unrav- 
elled their  own  straiii^o  story.  And 
Susan  ixud  Gcor;:e  almost  worshipped 
liaac  Levi  ;  and  Susan  kissed  him 
and  called  hiu)  her  father,  and  hun^ 
upon  Ids  neck  all  gratitude.  And  lu- 
passed  his  liand  over  her  chestnut 
hair,  and  said,  "  Go  to,  foolish  child," 
but  his  deep  rich  voice  trcmhlcd  a 
little,  and  wonderful  tenderness  and 
benevolence  glistened  iu  that  fiery 
eye. 

He  would  now  have  left  them,  but 
noiiody  there  would  part  with  him ; 
behooved  him  to  stay  and  eat  fish  and 
pudding  with  them,  —  the  meat  they 
would  excuse  him  if  he  would  he  good 
and  not  talk  al>out  going  again.  And 
after  dinner  G^-orge  and  Tom  must 
tell  their  whole  >tory  ;  and,  as  they  told 
their  eventful  lives,  it  was  observed 
that  the  hearers  were  far  more  agi- 
tated than  the  narrators.  The  latter 
had  been  iu  a  gold  mine ;  had  supped 
so  full  of  adventures  and  crimes  and 
horrors  that  nothing  astonished  them, 
and  they  were  made  scn-iblc  of  the 
/tremendous  scenes  they  had  been 
through  by  the  loud  ejaculations,  the 
pallor,  the  excitement  uf  their  hearers. 
As  for  Susan,  again  and  again  during 
the  men's  narratives  the  tears  streamed 
down  her  face,  and  once  she  was  taken 
faint  at  George's  peril,  and  the  story 
had  to  be  interrupted  and  water  sprin- 
kled on  her,  and  the  men  in  their  in- 
nocence were  for  not  going  on  with 
their  part,  but  she  peremptorily  in- 
sisted, and  sneered  at  them  for  being 
so  fullish  as  to  take  any  notice  of  her 
fullishncss, — she  would  have  every 
word  ;  and  after  all  was  he  not  there 
alive  and  well,  sent  back  to  her  safe 
after  so  many  perils,  never,  never  to 
leave  England  again  ! 

"  Oh  giorno  fclice  !  "  A  day  to  be 
imagined;  or  described  by  a  pen  a 
thousand  times  greater  and  su!)tler 
than  mine,  but  of  this  be  sure,  — it  was 
a  day  such  as,  neither  to  Susan  nor 
George,  nor  to  you  nor  me,  nor  to  any 
man  or  woman  upon  earth,  has  ever 
come  twice  between  the  cradle  and  the 
grave.  1 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

A  MONTH  of  Elysium.  And  then 
one  day  George  asked  Susan,  ])lump, 
when  it  would  be  agreeable  to  her  to 
marry  him. 

•'  i\Iarry  you,  George  ?  "  replied  Su- 
san, opening  her  eyes  ;  "  why,  never  ! 
I   shall   never   marry  any    one   after 

—  you  must  be  well  aware  of  that." 
Susan  proceeded  to  inform  George,* 
that,  though  fullishness  was  a  part  of 
her  character,  sclHshness  was  not;  re- 
cent events  had  destroye<l  an  agree- 
able delusion  under  which  she  had 
imagined  herself  wortliy  to  be  I\Irs. 
George  Fielding;  she  therefore,  though 
with  some  reluctance,  intended  to  re- 
sign that  situation  to  some  wiser  and 
better  woman  than  she  had  turned 
out.  In  this  agreeable  resolution  she 
persisted,  varying  it  occasionally  with 
little  showers  of  tears  unaccompanied 
by  the  slightest  convulsion  of  the  mus- 
cles of  the  face.  But  as  I  am  not,  like 
George  Fielding,  in  love  with  Susan 
Morton,  or  with  self  deception  (anoth- 
er's), I  spare  the  reader  all  the  pretty 
things  this  young  lady  said  and  be- 
lieved and  did,  to  postpone  her  inev- 
itable happiness.  Yes,  inevitable,  for 
this  sort  of  thing  never  yet  kept  lovers 
long  apart  since  the  world  was,  except 
in  a  novel  worse  than  conynon.  I  will 
but  relate  how  that  fine  fellow  George 
dried  *'  these  fullish  drops  "  on  one  oc- 
casion. 

"  Susan,"  said  he,  "if  I  had  found 
you  going  to  be  married  to  another 
man  with  the  roses  on  your  cheek,  I 
should  have  turned  on  my  heel  and 
back  to  Australia :  but  a  look  in 
your  face  was  enough  ;  you  were 
miserable,  and  any  old  fool  could  see 
your  heart  was  dead  against  it ;  look 
at.  you  now  blooming  like  a  rose,  so 
what  is  the  use  of  us  two  fighting 
against  human  nature  ?  we  can't  be 
happy  apart,  — let  us  cotne  together." 

—  "  Ah  !  George,  if  I  thought  your 
happiness  depended  on  having  —  a 
fullish  wife  —  " 

"  JVhy,  you  know  it  docs,"  rc])lied 
the  inadvertent  Agricola.  —  *'  That  al- 


400 


"IT  IS  NEVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MEND.' 


ters  the  case  ;  sooner  than  yon  should 
be  unhappy, —  I  think  — I — "  — 
*•  Name  the  day  tlien." 

In  short  the  hells  ranj;;  a  merry  peal, 
and  to  recoiivile  ISusaii  to  her  unavoid- 
able happiness  Mr.  Eden  eame  down 
and  gave  an  additional  weight  (in 
her  way  of  viewing  things)  to  the 
marriage  ceremony  by  officiating. 
It  must  be  owned  that  this  favor- 
able circuTnstance  cost  her  a  few  tears 
too. 

How  so,  Mr.  Reade  1 

Marry,  sir,  thus :  Mr.  Eden  was 
■what  they  call  eccentric;  among  his 
other  deviations  from  usage  he  deliv- 
ered the  meaning  of  sentences  in  church 
along  witli  tlie  words. 

This  was  a  thunder-clap  to  poor  Su- 
san. She  liad  often  heard  a  chanting 
machine  utter  the  marriage  service  all 
on  one  note,  and  heard  it  with  a  cer- 
tain smile  of  unintelligent  complacen- 
cy her  sex  wear  out  of  politeness  ; 
but  when  the  man  Eden  told  her  at 
llhe  altar  with  simple  earnestness  what 
ft.  high  and  deep  and  solemn  contract 
Bhe  was  making  then  and  there  with 
God  and  man,  she  began  to  cry,  and 
wept  like  April  through  the  cere- 
ftiony. 

I  have  not  quite  done  with  this  pair, 
but  leave  them  a  few  minutes,  for 
some  words  are  due  to  otlier  charac- 
ters, and  to  iit)ne,  I  think,  more  than  to 
this  very  Mr.  Eden,  whose  zeal  antl 
wisdom  l)rought  our  hero  and  nnhero- 
ine  happily  togetlier  through  the  sub- 
tle sequence  of  causes  I  have  re- 
lated, the  prime  thread  a  converted 
thief. 

Mr.  Eden's  strength  broke  down 
under  the  prodigious  effort  to  defeat 
the  effect  of  separate  continement  on 
the  bodies  and  souls  of  his  prisoners. 
Dr.  Gulson  ordered  him  abroad. 
Having  now  since  the  removal  of 
Hawes  given  the  separate  ami  silent 
system  a  long  and  iini)artial  trial,  his 
last  public  act  was  to  write  at  the  foot 
of  his  report  a  soU-nm  protest  against 
it,  as  an  impious  and  mad  attempt  to 
defy  God's  will  as  written  on  the 
face  of  man's  nature,  —  to  crush  too 


those  very  instincts  from  which  rise 
communities,  cities,  laws,  prisons, 
churches,  civilization,  —  and  to  wreck 
souls  and  bodies  under  pretence  of 
curing  souls,  not  by  knowledge,  wis« 
dom,  ])atieiice,  Christian  love,  or  any 
great  moral  effort,  but  by  the  easy 
and  physical  expedient  of  turning  one 
key  on  each  prisoner  instead  of  on  a 
score. 

"  These,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "  are  the 
dreams  of  selfish,  lazy,  heartless  dunces 
and  reckless  bigots,  dwarf  Kobes- 
pierres,  with  self-deceiving  hearts  that 
dream  philanthropy,  fluent  lips  that 
cant  philanthropy,  and  hands  swift  to 
shed  blood, — which  is  not  blood  to 
them,  —  because  they  are  mere  sensual 
brutes  so  low  in  intelligence  ttiat,  al- 
though men  are  murdered  and  die 
before  their  eyes,  they  cannot  see  it 
was  murder,  because  there  was  no 
knocking  on  the  head  or  cutting  of 
throats." 

The  reverend  gentleman  then  for- 
mally washed  his  hands  of  the  blood- 
shed and  reason-shed  of  the  separate 
system,  and  resigned  his  office,  ear- 
nestly requesting  at  the  same  time 
that,  as  soon  as  the  government  should 
come  round  to  his  opinion,  they  would 
permit  him  to  co-operate  in  any 
enlighteiied  experiment  where  God 
should  no  longer  be  defied  by  a  knot 
of  worms  as  in Jail. 

Then  he  went  abroad,  but  though 
professedly  hunting  health  he  visited 
and  inspected  half  the  principal  prisons 
in  Europe.  After  many  months  events 
justified  his  prediction  :  the  govern- 
ment started  a  large  prison  on  com- 
mon sense  and  humanity,  and  Mr. 
Lacy's  interest  procured  Mr.  EdcQ 
the  place  of  its  cha])lain. 

This  prison  was  what  every  prison 
in  the  English  provinces  will  be  in 
five  years'  time,  —  a  well-ordered  com- 
munity, an  epitome  of  the  world  at 
lame,  (pr  which  a  prison  is  to  prepare 
men,  not  uuWi  them  as  frenzied  dunces 
would  do  ;  it  was  also  a  self-sustain- 
ing community,  like  the  world.  The 
prisoners  ate  prisoner-grown  corn  and 
meat,  wore  jirisoner-made  clothes  and 


"IT   IS   NKVER   TOO   LATE  TO   MKXD.' 


401 


iKHlclinp:,  were  lighted  by  pis  made  in 
the  prison,  etc.,  cte.,  etc.,  ete.  The 
aj^ririiitural  laborers  had  out-door 
work  suitid  to  their  future  destiny, 
and  tiiceiiaiiical  trades  were  zealously 
rausai-ked  Ibr  tin;  city  ro;;uos.  Anti- 
tiieft  rci;j:ned  triunipliant.  No  idle- 
ness, no  wicked  waste  of  sweat.  The 
members  of  this  community  sleep  in 
separate  cells,  as  men  do  in  other 
well-ordered  communities,  but  they 
do  not  pine  and  wither  and  die  in 
cells  for  offences  committed  outside 
the  pii>on  walls.  Here,  if  you  sec  a 
man  ca<;:ed  like  a  wild  bea.st  all  day, 
you  may  be  sure  he  is  there,  not  so 
much  for  his  own  good,  as  for  that  of 
the  little  comnmnity  in  which  he  has 
])roved  himself  unworthy  to  mix  }>ro 
tun.  Foul  language  and  contamina- 
tion are  checkmated  here,  not  by  the 
lazy,  selfish,  cruel  ex])edient  of  uni- 
versal solitude,  but  by  Argus-like 
surveillance.  Officers,  suflficient  in 
number,  listen  with  sharp  ears,  and 
look  with  keen  eyes.  The  contami- 
nator  is  sure  to  be  seized  and  confined 
till  prudence,  if  not  virtue,  ties  his 
tongue  :  thus  he  is  disarmed,  and  the  j 
better-disposed  encourage  one  another. 
Comi^are  this  legitimate  and  necessary 
use  of  that  most  terrible  of  tortures, 
the  cell,  with  the  tigro-asinine  use  of 
it  in  seven  English  prisons  out  of  nine 
at  the  present  date.  It  is  just  the 
difference  between  arsenic  as  used  by 
a  good  pliysician  and  by  a  poisoner. 
It  is  the  difference  between  a  razor- 
bladed,  needle-pointed  knife  in  the 
hands  of  a  Christian,  a  philosopher,  a 
skilled  surgeon,  and  the  same  knife  in 
the  hands  of  a  savage,  a  brute,  a 
scounJrel,  or  a  fanatical  idiot. 

Mr.  Eden  had  returned  from  abroad 
but  a  fortnight  when  he  was  called  on 
to  unite  George  and  Susan. 

I  have  little  more  to  add  than  that  he 
was  very  hard  worked  and  supremely 
happy  in  his  new  situation,  and  that 
I  have  failed  to  do  him  justice  in  these 
pag"s.  But  he  shall  have  justice  one 
day,  Avhen  pitiless  a-^ses  will  find  them- 
selves more  foul  in  the  eyes  of  the  All- 
pure  than   the   thieves   they  crushed 


under  four  walls,  and  "  The  just  sJiall 
shine  lortU  as  the  hun,  and  tiny  that 
turn*  mahy  to  right''  •'  -  -  the 
stars  for  ever  and  ever 

Thomas  Kobinson  die  nu;  >i;;\  long 
at  Grassmere.  Things  were  said  in 
the  village  that  wounded  him.  Ill- 
repute  will  not  stop  directly  ill-conduct 
does.  He  went  to  see  Mr.  Eden,  sent 
his  name  in  as  Mr.  Sinclair,  was  re- 
ceived with  open  arms,  and  gave  the 
good  man  a  glow  of  happiness  such 
as  most  of  us,  I  fear,  go  to  the  grave 
without  feeling,  —  or  earning.  He 
presented  him  a  massive  gold  ring  he 
liad  hammered  out  of  a  nugget.  Mr. 
Eden  had  never  worn  a  ring  in  his 
life,  but  he  wore  this  with  an  innocent 
pride,  and  showed  it  people,  and 
valued  it  more  than  he  would  the  Pitt 
diamond,  which  a  French  king  bought 
of  an  English  subject,  and  the  price 
was  so  heavy  he  i)aid  for  it  by  instal- 
ments spread  over  many  years. 

Robinson  very  wisely  went  back  to 
Australia,  and  more  wisely  still  mar- 
ried Jenny,  with  whom  he  had  corre- 
sponded ever  since  he  left  her. 

I  have  no  fear  he  will  ever  break 
the  eighth  commandment  again.  His 
heart  was  touched  long  ago,  and  ever 
sitice  then  his  understanding  had  re- 
ceived conviction  upon  conviction  ; 
for  0,  the  blaze  of  light  that  enters 
our  souls  when  our  fate  puts  us  in  his 
place  —  in  her  place  —  in  their  place 
—  whom  we  used  to  strike,  never 
realizing  how  it  hurt  them !  He  is 
respected  for  his  intelligence  and  good- 
nature ;  he  is  sober,  industrious, 
pushing,  and  punctilious  in  business. 
One  trait  of  the  Bohemian  remains  : 
about  every  four  months  a  restless- 
ness comes  over  him  ;  then  the  wise 
Jenny  of  her  own  accord  proposes  a 
trip.  Poor  Tom's  eyes  sparkle  direct- 
ly ;  off  they  go  together.  A  foolish 
wife  would  have  made  him  go  alone. 
They  come  back,  and  my  lord  goes 
to  his  duties  with  fresh  zest  till  the 
periodical  fit  comes  again.  No  harm 
ever  comes  of  it. 

Servants  are  at  a  great   premium, 

*  Not  crush. 


^ 


402 


IT   IS  ^'KVER  TOO  LATE   TO  MEND." 


masters  at  a  discount,  in  the  colony ; 
hcntc  a  domestic  j)hcnomenoii,  which 
my  English  readers  can  hardly  con- 
ceive, but  I  am  told  my  American 
friends  have  a  faint  jzlimpse  of  it  in 
the  occasional  deportment  (/('  their 
"  lielps  "  in  out-of-the-way  ])laces. 

Now  Tom,  and  especially  Jenny, 
liad  looked  forward  to  reigniiij^  in 
their  own  house,  and  it  was  l!  ereforc 
a  disappointment  when  they  found 
themselves  snubbed  and  treated  with 
hauteur,  and  Jenny  revolted  a'^^ainst 
servant  after  servant,  who  straightway 
abdicated  and  left  her  forlorn.  At 
last  their  advertisement  was  answered 
by  a  male  candidate  for  menial  au- 
thority, who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Miles, 
their  late  master.  Tom  and  Jenny 
colored  up,  and  both  agreed  it  was 
out  of  the  question,  —  they  should  feel 
too  ashamed.  Mr.  Miles  answered 
by  offering  to  bet  a  crown  he  should 
make  them  the  best  servant  in  the 
street;  and,  strange  to  say,  the  bar- 
gain was  struck,  and  he  did  turn  out  a 
model  servant.  He  was  civil  and  re- 
spectful, especially  in  public,  ard  nev- 
er abused  his  situation.  Comparing 
his  conduct  with  his  predecessors',  it 
really  appeared  that  a  gentleman  can 
beat  snobs  in  various  relations  of  life. 
As  Tom's  master  and  Jenny's,  he  had 
never  descended  to  servility,  nor  was 
he  betrayed  into  arrogance  now  that 
he  had  risen  to  be  their  servant. 

A  word  about  Jacky.  After  the 
meal  off  the  scented  rabbit  in  the 
bush,  Robinson  said  slyly  to  George  : 
"  I  thought  you  promised  Jacky  a 
hiding,  —  well,  here  he  is." 

"  Now,  Tom,"  replied  the  other, 
coloring  up,  "  is  it  reasonable^  and 
he  has  just  saved  our  two  lives  1  but 
if  you  tiiink  that  I  won't  take  him  to 
task,  you  are  much  mistaken." 

George  then  remonstrated  with  the 
chief  for  s])oiiing  Abner  with  his  tom- 
ahawk. Jacky  opened  his  eyes  with 
astonishment  and  admiration.  Here 
was  another  instance  of  the  white 
fellow's  wonderful  power  of  seeing 
things  a  good  way  behind  him.  He 
half  closed  his  eyes,  and  tried  in  hum- 


ble imitation  to  peer  back  into  the 
])ast.  Yes!  he  could  just  manage  to 
see  himself  very  inilisiinctly  giving 
Abner  a  crack  ;  but  stop  !  let  him  see, 
it  was  impossible  to  be  positive,  but 
was  not  there  also  some  small  tritle  of 
insolence,  ingratitude,  and  above  all 
bungality,  on  the  part  of  this  Al)ner  ? 
When  the  distance  had  become  too 
great  to  see  the  whole  of  a  transac- 
tion, why  strain  the  eyes  looking  at  a 
})art1  Finally  Jacky  submitted  that 
these  microscopic  researches  cost  a 
good  deal  of  trouble,  and  on  the  whole 
his  tribe  were  wiser  than  the  white 
fellows  in  this,  that  they  revelled  in 
the  present,  and  looked  on  the  past 
as  a  period  that  never  had  been,  and 
the  future  as  one  that  never  would 
be.  On  this  George  resigned  the 
moral  culture  of  his  friend.  "  Soil  is 
not  altogether  bad,"  said  Agricola, 
"  but,  bless  your  heart,  it  is  n't  a  quar- 
ter of  an  inch  deep." 

On  George's  departure,  Jacky,  be- 
ing under  the  temporary  impression 
of  his  words,  collected  together  a  mixed 
company  of  blacks,  and  marched  them 
to  his  possessions.  Arrived,  he  ha- 
rangued them  on  the  clevertiess  of  the 
white  fellows,  and  invited  them  to  play 
at  Europeans. 

"  Behold  this  ingenious  structure," 
said  he,  in  Australian  ;  "  this  is  called 
a  house  ;  its  use  is  to  protect  us  from 
the  weather  at  night ;  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  notice  which  way  the  wind 
blows,  and  go  and  lie  down  on  the 
o])posite  side  of  the  house  and  there 
you  are.  Then  again,  when  you  are 
cold,  you  will  find  a  number  of  wood- 
en articles  in  the  honse.  You  go  in, 
you  bring  them  out  and  burn  them 
and  are  warm."  He  then  produced 
what  he  had  always  considered  the 
(^lef  iVdcuvre  of  the  white  races,  a  box 
of  lucifer  matches  ;  this,  too,  was  a 
present  from  George.  *'  See  what 
^  clever  fellows  they  are,"  said  he,  "  they 
j  carry  about  fire,  which  is  fire  or 
not  fire  at  the  fortunate  possessor's 
will";  and  he  let  off  a  lucifer. 
These  the  tribe  admired,  but  doubted 
whether  all  those  little  sticks  had  the 


"IT  IS  N^EVER   TOO   LATE  TO  MEND. 


403 


same  marvellous  property  and  would 
beconu-  lire  in  the  hour  ofuet'd  ;  Jacky 
MiLvrcil  at  tlioir  incredulity,  and  let 
them  all  oti"  one  hy  one  in  a  series  of 
preliminary  experiments ;  this  im- 
paired their  future  userulne>s.  In 
short,  they  settled  there;  one  or  two's 
heads  had  to  he  hroUen  for  killing  the 
breeders  for  dinner,  and  that  j)raetice 
stopped  ;  hut  the  pot-bellied  youn*:- 
sters  j:;enerally  celebrated  tiie  birth  of 
a  lamb  by  spearinj^'  it. 

They  slept  on  the  lee  side  of  the 
house,  warmed  at  ni<;ht  by  the  chairs 
and  tables,  etc.,  which  they  lij^hted. 
They  got  on  very  nicely,  only  one 
fine  morning,  without  the  slightest 
warning,  whir-r-r-r  they  all  went  off 
to  the  woods,  Jacky  and  all,  and 
never  returned.  The  remaining  bul- 
locks strayed  devious,  and  the  douce 
M'Laughlan  blandly  absorbed  the 
shcej). 

Hasty  and  imperfect  as  my  sketch 
of  this  Jacky  is,  give  it  a  place  in  your 
note-book  of  sketches,  for  in  a  few 
years  the  Australian  savage  will 
breathe  only  in  these  pages,  and  the 
Saxon  plough  will  erase  his  very 
grave,  his  milmeridlen. 

brutus  lived;  but  the  form  and 
strength  he  had  abused  were  gone,  — 
he  is  the  shape  of  a  note  of  interroga- 
tion, and  by  a  coincidence  is  now  an 
"asker,"  i.  e.  he  begs,  receives  alms, 
and  sets  on  a  gang  of  burglars,  Avith 
whom  he  is  \n  league,  to  rob  the  good 
Christians  that  show  him  pity. 

mephistopheles  came  suddenly  to 
grief;  when  gold  was  found  in  Vic- 
toria be  crossed  over  to  tliat  port  and 
robbed.  One  day  he  robbed  the  tent 
of  an  old  man,  a  native  of  the  colony, 
who  was  digging  there  with  his  son, 
a  lad  of  tifteen.  Now  these  currency 
lads  are  very  sharp  and  determined  :  j 
the  youngster  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
retiring  tliicf,  ainl  followed  him  and 
saw  him  enter  a  tent.  He  watched 
at  the  entrance,  and  when  mepliisto- 
pheles  came  out  again,  he  put  a  pistol 
to  the  man's  breast  and  shot  him  dead 
without  a  word  of  remonstrance,  ac- 
cusation, or  explanation. 


A  few  diggers  ran  out  of  their  claims. 
"  If  our  gold  is  not  on  him,"  says  the 
youngster,  "  1  have  made  a  mistake." 

The  gold  was  iound  on  the  carcass, 
and  the  diggers  went  coolly  back  to 
their  work. 

The  youngster  went  directly  to  the 
commissioner  and  told  him  what  ha 
had  done,  "I  don't  sec  that  I  am 
called  on  to  interfere,"  replied  that 
functionary ;  "  he  was  taken  in  tho 
act ;  you  have  buried  him,  of  course.'* 
—  "  Not  I.  I  let  him  lie  for  whoever 
chose  to  own  him." 

"You  let  him  lie?  "What,  when 
there  is  a  printed  order  from  the  gov- 
ernment stuck  over  the  whole  mine 
that  nobody  is  to  leave  carrion  about ! 
You  go  off  directly  and  bury  your  car- 
rion or  you  will  get  into  trouble,  young 
man."  And  the  official's  manner  be- 
came harsh  and  threatening. 

If  ever  a  man  was  "  shot  like  a  dog," 
surely  the  assassin  of  Carlo  was. 

]Mr.  Meadows  in  the  prison  refused 
his  food,  and  fell  into  a  deep  depres- 
sion ;  but  the  third  day  he  revived, 
and  fell  to  scheming  again.  He  sent 
to  Mr.  Levi  and  otlcMcd  to  give  him  a 
long  lease  of  his  old  house  if  he  would 
but  be  absent  from  the  trial.  This 
was  a  sore  temptation  to  tlie  old  man. 
But  meantime  stronger  measures 
were  taken  in  his  defence  and  without 
consulting  him. 

One  evening  that  Susan  and  George 
were  in  the  garden  at  Grassmere,  sud- 
denly an  old  woman  came  towards 
them  with  slow  and  hesitating  steps. 
Susan  fled  at  the  sight  of  her,  —  sho 
hated  the  very  name  this  old  woman 
bore.  George  stood  his  ground,  look- 
ing sheepish ;  the  old  woman  stood 
before  him  trembling  violently  and 
fighting  against  her  tears.  She  could 
not  speak,  but  held  out  a  letter  to  him. 
He  took  it,  the  ink  was  rusty,  it  was 
written  twenty  years  ago  ;  it  was  from 
his  mother  to  her  neighbor  Mrs. 
Meadows,  then  on  a  visit  at  Ncw- 
boiotigh,  telling  her  how  yoinig  John 
had  fought  for  and  protected  her 
againsta  band  of  drunken  ruffians,  and 
how  grateful   she  was.     "  And   I   do 


404 


T   IS   NEVER   TOO   LATE   TO   MEND." 


hope,  dame,  he  will  be  as  good  friends 
with  my  hids  wheji  they  are  men  as 
you  and  I  have  been  this  miiny  a  day." 

Geoi<j:e  did  not  speak  for  a  long 
time.  He  held  ttie  letter,  and  it  trern- 
blevl  a  little  in  his  hand,  lie  looked 
at  the  old  woman,  standinp:  a  piteous, 
silent  supplieant.  "  Mrs.  Meadows," 
said  he,  searce  above  a  whisper,  "  give 
me  this  letter,  if  you  will  be  so  good. 
I  have  not  got  her  handwriting,  except 
our  names  in  the  Bible." 

She  gave  him  the  letter  half  reluc- 
tantly, and  looked  fearfully  and  in- 
quiringly in  his  face.  He  smiled 
kindly,  and  a  sort  of  proud  curl  came 
for  a  moment  to  his  lip,  and  the  -wo- 
man read  the  man.  This  royal  rustic 
would  not  have  taken  the  letter  if  he 
had  not  granted  the  mother's  unspo- 
ken prayer. 

"  God  bless  you  both  ! "  said  she, 
and  went  on  her  way. 

The  assizes  came,  and  Meadows's 
two  plaintiffs  both  were  absent ;  Rob- 
inson gone  to  Australia,  and  George 
forfeited  his  recognizances  and  had  to 
pay  a  hundred  pound  for  it.  The 
defendants  were  freed.  Then  Isaac 
Levi  said  to  himself,  "  He  will  not 
keep  faith  with  me."  But  he  did  not 
know  his  man.  Meadows  had  a  con- 
science, though  an  oblique  one.  A 
promise  from  him  was  sacred  in  his 
own  eyes.  A  man  came  to  Grassmere 
and  left  a  hundred  pound  in  a  letter 
for  George  Fielding.  Then  he  went 
on  to  Levi,  and  gave  him  a  parcel  and 
a  note.  The  parcel  con  tamed  the  ti- 
tle-deeds of  the  house  ;  and  the  note 
said  :  "  Take  the  house  and  the  furni- 
ture and  pay  me  what  you  consider  they 
are  worth.  And,  old  man,  I  think  you 
might  take  your  curse  off  me,  for  I 
have  never  known  a  heart  at  rest  since 
you  laid  it  on  me,  and  you  see  now 
our  case  is  altered,  —  you  have  a  home 
now  and  John  Meadows  has  none." 

Then  the  old  man  was  softened,  and 
he  wrote  a  line  in  reply,  and  said  : 
"  Three  just  men  shall  value  the  house 
and  furniture,  and  1  will  pay,  etc.,  etc. 
Put  now  adversity  to  profit,  —  repent 
and  prosper.     Isaac  Levi  wishes  you 


I  no  ill  from  this  day,  but  rather  good." 
Thus  died,  as  mortal  feelings  are  apt 
to  die,  an  enmity  its  owners  thought 
immortal. 

A  steam-vessel  glided  down  \^e 
Thames  bound  for  Fort  Phillip.  Oa 
the  deck  were  to  be  seen  a  little  girl 
crying  bitterly,  —  this  was  Hannah,  — 
a  stalwart,  yeoman-like  figure,  who 
stood  unmoved  as  the  shores  glided  by, 

Omae  solum  forti  patria, 

and  an  old  woman  who  held  his  arm 
as  if  she  needed  to  feel  him  at  the  mo- 
ment of  leaving  her  native  land.  This 
old  woman  had  hated  and  denounced 
his  sins,  and  there  was  scarce  a  point 
of  morality  on  which  she  thoroughly 
agreed  with  him.  Yet  at  threescore 
years  and  ten  she  left  her  native  land 
with  two  sole  objects,  —  to  comfort  this 
stout  man,  and  win  him  to  repentance. 

"  He  shall  repent,"  said  she  to  her- 
self. "  Even  now  his  eyes  are  open- 
ing, his  heart  is  softening.  Three 
times  he  has  said  to  me, '  That  George 
Fielding  is  a  better  man  than  I  am.' 
He  will  repent.  Again  he  said  to  me, 
'  I  have  thought  too  little  of  you,  and 
too  much  where  it  was  iv  sin  for  me 
even  to  look.'  He  will  repent,  —  his 
voice  is  softer,  —  he  bejirs  no  malice, 
—  he  blames  none  but  himself.  It  is 
never  too  late  to  mend.  He  will  re- 
pent, and  I  shall  see  him  happy  and 
lay  my  old  bones  to  rest  contented, 
though  not  where  I  thought  to  lay 
them,  in  Grassmere  churchyard." 

Ah,  you  do  well  to  hold  that  quaint 
little  old  figure  with  that  strong  arm 
closer  to  you  than  you  have  done  this 
many  years,  ay,  since  you  were  a 
curly-headed  boy.  It  is  a  good  sign, 
John  ;  on  neither  side  of  the  equator 
shall  you  ever  find  a  friend  like  her. 

"AH  other  love  is  mockery  and  deceit. 
T  is  like  the  mirasre  of  the  desert  that  appears 
A  cool  refreshinsr  WHter,  and  allm'es 
The  thirsty  traveller,  but  flies  anon 
And  leaves  him  disappointed,  wundering 
So  fair  a  vision  should  so  futile  jirove. 
A  mother's  love  is  like  unto  a  well 
Sealed  and  kept  secret,  a  deej)-hidden  fount 
That  flows  when  every  other  spriug  is  dry.* 

*  Sophia  Woodrooffe. 


"IT  IS  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND." 


405 


Pctor  Cniwlcy,  left  to  his  own  re- 
souircs,  practises  at  the  County 
Courts  ill  his  old  nei^^hborhood,  and 
drinks  with  all  his  clients,  who  are  of 
the  lowest  inia^Mnahlc  order.  He 
complains  that  "  he  can't  peck,"  yet 
contiiuies  the  cause  of  his  inliriniry, 
living  almost  entirely  upon  cock-a- 
dooille  broth,  — eggs  beat  uj)  in  bran- 
dy and  a  little  water.  Like  Scij)io,  he 
is  never  less  alone  than  when  alone ; 
with  this  dirt'erence,  that  the  compan- 
ions of  1*.  C.'s  solitude  do  not  add  to 
the  pleasure  of  his  existence.  Unless 
somebody  can  make  him  see  that  it  is 
never  too  late  to  mend,  tliis  little  rogue, 
fool,  and  sot  will  "  shut  up  like  a 
knife  some  day  "  (so  says  a  medical 
friend),  and  then  it  will  be  too  late. 

It  is  nine  in  the  evening.  A  little 
party  is  collected  of  farmers  and  their 
wives  and  daugliters.  Mrs.  George 
Fielding  rises  and  says,  "  Now  I  must 
go  home."  Remonstrance  of  host- 
ess. "  George  will  be  at  home  by 
now." 

"  Well,  wait  till  he  comes  for  you." 

"  O,  he  won't  come,  for  fear  of 
shortening  my  pleasure." 

Susan  then  explains  that  George  is 
so  fullisli  that  he  never  will  go  into 
the  house  when  she  is  not  in  it.  "  And 
here  is  a  drizzle  come  on,  and  there 
he  will  be  sitting  out  in  it,  I  know,  if  I 
don't  go  and  drive  him  in." 

Events  justify  the  prediction.  The 
good  wife  finds  her  husband  sitting  on 
the  gate  kicking  his  heels  quite  con- 
tented and  peaceable,  only  he  would 
not  pay  the  house  the  compliment  of 
going  into  it  when  she  was  not  there. 
He  told  her  once  he  looked  on  it 


as  no  better  tlian  a  coal-hole  when 
she  was  not  shining  up  and  down  it. 
—  N.  B.  They  have  been  some 
years  married.  A  calm  but  very  ten- 
der conjugal  love  sits  at  this  innocent 
hearth. 

George  has  made  a  great  concession 
for  an  Englishman.  He  has  solemnly 
deposited  before  witnesses  his  softi-i- 
qutt  of  "  Unlucky  George,"  not  (he 
was  careful  to  explain)  because  he 
found  the  great  nugget,  nor  because 
the  meadow  he  bought  in  Bathurst  for 
two  hundrotl  pounds  has  just  been 
sold  by  Robinson  for  twelve  thousand 
pounds,  but  on  account  of  his  being 
Susan's  husband. 

And  Susan  is  very  happy.  Besides 
the  pleasure  of  loving  and  being  loved, 
she  is  in  her  place  in  creation.  The 
class  of  woman  (a  very  large  one)  to 
wliich  she  belongs  comes  into  the 
world  to  make  others  happy.  Susan 
is  skilful  at  this  and  very  successful. 
She  makes  everybody  happy  round 
her,  "  and  that  is  so  pleasant."  She 
makes  the  man  she  loves  happy,  and 
that  is  delightful. 

My  reader  shall  laugh  at  her  :  my 
unfriendly  critic  shall  sneer  at  her. 
As  a  heroine  of  a  novel  she  deserves 
it :  but  I  hope  for  their  own  sakes 
neither  will  undervalue  the  original  in 
their  passage  through  life.  These  av- 
erage women  are  not  the  spice  of  fic- 
tion, but  they  are  the  salt  of  real  life. 

William  Fielding  is  godfather  to 
Susan's  little  boy. 

He  can  stand  by  his  brother's  side 
and  look  without  compunction  on 
Anne  Fielding's  grave,  and  think 
without  an  unmanly  shudder  of  his 
own. 


THE  END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


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